Morbid Curiosity
by MonDieu666
Summary: Debased, debaunched and delicious. Eleanor, a psycologist with a morbid curiosity and a love of playing mind games, gets thrust into the world of The Joker
1. Chapter 1

"Have you seen the latest video

"Have you seen the latest video?"

She sighed audibly over the phone. He took that as confirmation.

"A psychologists dream patient, wouldn't you say."

"That is no patient," she said, speaking for the first time. "That is Pandora's box."

"'_That_' is the most interesting man in Gotham."

"Even more so than you?" She deliberately taunted him.

"I can't compete with him. By now you've reviewed my plan. What are your thoughts on the matter?"

"I have no thoughts as there is no matter."

"Now now Eleanor, play nice. He's exactly your type."

She scoffed. "I prefer my madmen a little more… kempt."

"Is that really holding you back? Is that the hand of restraint?"

"Maybe I don't think I can compete with him either."

"I thought that of all things would spur you into action."

There was a pause in the conversation. He could practically imagine her recrossing her long legs, rearranging herself on the leather couch, mulling it over. She was visible perfection. But it was a mask. Hiding one of the most sinister minds, it was a beautifully ironic display of dichotomy.

It made her his equal. Well almost.

"Jonathan, look at him. He has no natural desires. He is pure and absolute. A sociopath in the most extreme form! What makes you think I could tempt him?"

"My dear, you could tempt Satan."

"Regardless," she brushed away the flattery, "he doesn't care about physical beauty."

"No but he does like an enigma."

Another pause. "Go on!"

"He is a man who likes to understand everything about him, likes to read people. What better way to deduce the perfect manner in which to thrust our world into spiralling chaos."

"A pretty description."

"Not pretty at all. Dark, powerful, manic."

Eleanor breath hitched and Jonathan knew it wasn't fear. He grinned, already feeling the flush of success.

"See my dear, your reaction is absolute evidence of your suitability for the job."

"Am I to assume that my job is to be the enigma in question?"

"Who better?"

"You mean, who is more sick and twisted?"

"You have the intellect and the training. You are my femme fatale!"

"So you are saying I am sick and twisted." She was forcing him to say it. She loved hearing him say it.

"Ever notice how the ones drawn to our profession are usually the ones most in need of dire attention." He evaded the question.

"That isn't an answer."

Jonathan refused to relent that easily. He'd make her work for it if she really wanted it. "How would you describe it?"

"Morbid curiosity."

He let out a low chuckle. "Yes but with you that's less of a description and more of a clinical disorder."

"I'm ground breaking."

"In more ways than one. Am I to assume you are committed?"

"No but you can assume that I am willing to hear more details."

Jonathan had a full blown smirk. The Joker was getting a therapist.

Eleanor Laurence was stupendous and it wasn't because of her beauty. In the day and age of plastic surgery, flawlessness was common place. On first meeting her in college he had dismissed her out of hand. A rich kid killing time before she married a similarly rich husband.

What he discovered was a genius woman, a visionary mind and completely devoid of ethics. Elegant and sumptuous but hard as a tack underneath. She had been an integral sounding board when he had developed his fear elixir. Excited at the revolutionary and cruel concept.

Eleanor however had a deep seated attraction to similar minds. Not the pathetic whining patients that they treated and diagnosed with the standard boring disorders of schizoid paranoia. She loved her sociopaths, the criminally and clinically insane, the split personalities, the mastermind unhindered by morals.

She had been out of the country for a few years, studying religion and acceptable behaviour of the tribes in Africa. Jonathan had loathed every minute of her absence knowing she was wasted on such a conventional venture.

He wanted her back in the cesspool that was Gotham. Eleanor was the closest thing he had to a friend and, he believed, his soul mate. Jonathan suspected she felt the same but it would be too simple to admit it to each other. Almost a weakness. Neither was going to be the one to break.

She was the only woman worthy of this scheme. The only one with such a predilection towards the insane.

Jonathan didn't have such a primal interest in The Joker. He thought him a little too brash. A little too vulgar. Certainly he was a fascinating animal but he was far too public. Insanity is fine, tolerated by society even, as long as you do it in private.

The Joker was broad casting on national TV, revelling and wicked in his self created pandemonium. Taunting the masked vigilante.

Inside his own fractured mind, Jonathan recognised an opportunity when it presented itself. He was pragmatic to a fault. He acknowledged The Joker as the force of nature he was and was downright gleeful with the proposals he could concoct with that type of power. He just needed the appropriate person to guide this force. Edge it to the right direction.

There was a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that Eleanor might get hurt in the process. Too insubstantial to be defined as guilt but there all the same. Still sacrifices must be made for great discovery to be made. A bit like Jesus.

He laughed outright at the idea of comparing Eleanor to Jesus. Eleanor was a bad woman, she was no saint.

Eleanor reclined in her chair and swirled her glass of red wine. Expensive but she basked in physical pleasures. She loved money for what it allowed her to do and what she did was awful, disgusting, debasing… delicious.

Jonathan was using her for something. He may be the epic love of her warped life but he would manipulate her straight into her grave for his own advancement.

She knew all this so she had to think his proposition over carefully. What was in it for her?

She had arrived back in the city for the social event of the season it seemed. She had heard of the fiasco this Batman had caused and her first moments back home had been a testimony to the spreading niceness. Like a fucking plague.

There was one shining beacon of hope for people who didn't really fit inside the social order. The Joker. A man so terrifying Eleanor shuddered at the idea. She wondered if there were any remnants of a man inside him or if he was all belief and anarchy.

She hadn't been attracted to him either. His obvious disdain for hygiene appalled her. This body of hers should be respected and worshipped. It was her temple. Granted she had an altar to dark desires but sacred nonetheless. That man touching _her_? However the more she saw the more she wanted to know.

She had been disappointed when he had been thrust behind bars and she cursed batman for protecting a society that hunted him. Not any more. Yesterday had brought the thrilling news. He had escaped. It also brought Jonathan's proposition.

Eleanor wondered if his vendetta against Batman was behind him throwing in his cards with The Joker.

She returned again to the ultimate question. How could this benefit her?

It would be a tantalising social experiment. The man was such a complicated combination of contradictions. He claimed he had no plans but he had pulled off such artistic debacles he needed to have some cohesion and organisation.

His origin unknown but his behaviour reeked of professional training. An uncanny understanding of fighting and explosives. An absolute fearlessness and disregard for pain but survival instincts. Down right eerie knack of pin pointing exactly a person's weakness. He wouldn't define her. She was unpredictable.

No known motivation. The makeup mask and horrifying scars. Still as unusual as it stood all of this could be written off as a jovial nut jobs desire to annoy. That was Eleanor's original assessment of the situation. But she had seen the first tape broadcasted. The crackly camcorder and that high pitched giggle all accounted for. She hadn't been giving it her full attention. She really should have.

"Look at me!" he had snarled. His voice no longer nasally or lilting but steady, rasping with malice.

And with that he revealed the unadulterated darkness within and gotten under her skin.

Now he was free and playing games once more? Well Eleanor wanted to play regardless of the stakes.

Morbid curiosity indeed.

………………………………………………………………………**.**


	2. Chapter 2

Eleanor tapped her foot impatiently

Eleanor tapped her foot impatiently. The click click of her heels on ceramic tile echoed through the empty apartment. Waiting like a skittish school girl for the phone to ring.

The matter to be discussed was slightly more urgent than a prom date. It had been more than a week since she had agreed to play the puppet in Jonathans little escapade. She knew she needed the perfect entrance into The Jokers life. One single careless misstep and she would have failed. Or worse, died.

But the man himself had offered the solution with his new video calling out the mob. Naming them as his next victims if they didn't concede his ruling. The mob had, according to Jonathan's sources, run for it. If the Joker couldn't find them then he couldn't dominate them. Pathetic little fools. A new world order was being established.

Apparently there was a mob meeting tonight and Eleanor was sure this was the place The Joker would stage his coup. She would be there for it.

Her cell tingled. She snatched it up but forced herself to wait another ten seconds before answering.

"Jonathan, what a pleasure to hear from you." Her tone was even and her face neutral.

"You weren't waiting by the phone were you?" His voice teased her.

"Of course I was, I take my phone everywhere. I wasn't, however waiting for your phone call."

"If you insist."

"I do. Do you have the location?" Tension strayed into her voice for the first time. This could be dismissed as the approaching encounter.

"I do and if I could find it…"

Then most certainly The Joker could," Eleanor finished.

"I'll text you the address."

"I wish we could talk this through in person."

Jonathan had refused to come to her apartment, claiming he could not be linked to her. Especially as batman wanted him for his exploits as 'The Scarecrow.'

"Eleanor, you will be fine."

"Do I detect concern?"

"Not at all." He disconnected.

She sighed and tossed the phone onto the counter and walked over to the mirror. She studied her reflection. Faultless. The red dress draped off her curves exquisitely and so it should. She had payed an inordinate amount for it.

Her nails were manicured red and her make up tasteful. Her chestnut brown hair and round almond eyes stunning. She looked elegant, composed and civilised. Eleanor needed this to be The Joker's first impression of her.

He had to read her and then be thrown the minute she opened her mouth.

There was still the hint of apprehension in her eyes. That needed to be taken care of. She had to be a picture of confidence even if she was screaming inside. Nothing he could do to others would shock her but if he turned the threat upon her own person… that would be a problem.

…………………………………………………………..

The men of the mob did not seem particularly surprised to see him enter, cackling feverishly. They did however look horrified and that tickled him.

"Gentleman," he began. His voice coming from no lower than his throat. His glee at the situation evident in his tone.

He paused for dramatic effect. He was nothing if not an excellent performer.

"Your struggle for control, it uh, what's the word. It, uh, amuses me." His tongue darted out of his mouth. An unnoticed tic. "But I feel like we've done this dance before and now it's so boooooring. Boring. Boring. Boring."

He snapped his teeth at their frozen faces and a giggle escaped.

"But," he waved his arms like a conductor, "I've decided that killing you all would be a waste… of my considerable talent, not your lives."

His audience stirred. Not because of boredom but outrage. Oh he hoped someone would say something. He wanted to slice through skin and see their fear so badly it was a physical ache. His fingers tapped enthusiastically at the very idea of marring someone.

No one spoke. He stomped his foot and pouted but snickered again. Revulsion was beginning to replace the horror. Yes well, not as good as fear but it would do.

"Don't look so glum Gentleman. You will still grind out your profit but when I say jump, you jump now, even if it's off a building." He mimed the fall with his hand and ended with a squelching noise. He bared his teeth with the last sound and fixed them with a solemn expression. He wasn't bluffing on this.

"Crazy mother-"

The man never got to complete the expletive. The Joker had his face slammed hard against the table.

"Now those aren't very," he paused, his tongue snaked out, "complimentary… words."

His words were slow and punctuated. His voice cracked. His inflection light still but the malice was overwhelming. He smacked his lips before launching into action.

"This," He banged the mans head against the table for emphasis. "will." Bang. "not." Bang. "Be tolerated!"

He lurched the man backwards onto the ground, where he lay still, his nose obviously shattered.

The Joker slumped back into his seat and made a show of sweeping his oily green hair off his face. He waggled a disapproving finger at the unconscious man, tutting in reprimand. He switched his concentration back to the conscious members of the mob.

"Well that was fun. I hear exercise if good for the soul."

No one dared make another comment. Ah submission. Gave him warm tingling feelings starting at his toes. His fingers had ceased jiggling for the moment, having found a temporary outlet for his energy.

"Do I have your cooperation?" He knew he did but he wanted to push the humiliation just a bit further. He raised both eyebrows, waiting, as if on the edge of his seat.

One by one they inclined their heads. He clapped with sadistic pleasure. "Good. Last time I made the explosive exit. We're going to do things a little differently this time. You go! Go! Vanish! Vamoose!"

There were blank stares so he fired a round from his gun. They scattered like the inconsequential serfs they were. Like vermin.

The room emptied of everyone but his henchmen. Almost everyone. There was a woman reclining in a seat near the back. She had dragged another chair up and was casually, no insubordinately, propping her legs up on it. She was looking at the ceiling with an expression that was both wistful and bored.

She was dressed in blood red. How had he missed her amongst all the grey and black?

"Excuse me. Did you miss the gunfire? Cos that was your marching orders." He didn't rise from his seat. This was probably just some dumb mistress. Not anyone of interest.

She brought her head around and brazenly made eye contact. "I'm sorry, have you stopped talking?"

Deliberate, baiting.

Well this was a very stupid pretty. It might be worth cutting up her face just a little. But so much effort for such minimal satisfaction? He'd give her another escape option.

"The mob has left." He bit his lip and smirked. "You're all alone with little old me." He pretended to preen his jacket. Fiddling with his tie in obscene parody of grooming made all the more disgusting by the constant smacking of his lips.

She lifted her legs off the chair and turned to face him fully. "They aren't my employers."

"Sugar daddy's then." He faked a bashful wince, "is that not the politically correct term?"

"Oh they've never seen me before in their life." She folded her delicate hands under her chin.

The Joker braced his hands on the table, evenly spread. "Oh really?" his henchmen were moving forward. Closer to this woman.

"You'd be surprised how no one questions a beautiful woman."

"You are gorgeous." He stressed the last word and panted lewdly.

He thought he saw her jaw tighten and she took a deep breath. "I know I'm stunning, compliments bore me. It's my disguise."

He darted his tongue out. He knew his eyes were beginning to look uncertain. The trick was to ask questions with sarcastic tones. No one would notice the confusion.

"Disguise?" His voice now high and British!

"Not as comprehensive as yours maybe," she waved her hand in his direction and for the first time her haughty attitude broke. The Joker grinned. The make up unnerved people.

"But effective none the less," she finished.

"Why are you here lady?" No embellishments now. This conversation was getting tedious and he wasn't sure why he was having it. He could be causing mayhem. He was going to have her killed he decided. Let's see if her insides matched the colour of her dress. He was lifting his hand for the order when she spoke again.

"I'm here to meet you of course."

He narrowed his eyes and flicked his tongue. People did not want to meet him. He wasn't a social kind of guy.

"What's your name?"

She blinked twice and hesitated. Too long. "Cath-"

He slammed his hands on the table. "Real name," he barked.

There was trepidation growing in her eyes and for some reason that made her smile. "Eleanor."

"And you want to meet me why, Eleanor?"

"I'm a psychologist."

This started a strong wave of laughter. Eleanor endured, having expected nothing less.

"So that's why you're here." He stood up with a flourish and did a little turn. He moved towards her as he spoke. "To fix me? To cure me?"

His voice dropped an octave and he was soon invading her space.

Her cheeks were flushed. "Fix you?" She was now speaking with emotion. It was genuine. "There's nothing to fix! You're a masterpiece! I want to observe, that's all."

"You don't think I'm a freak?" he was still in her face. He practically spat out the last word.

She regained her composure. "I wouldn't say that."

He threw himself into the chair Eleanor's feet had occupied. He grabbed her hand and he felt the initial jerk as she fought her first instinct to recoil.

"Eleanor… are you a groupie?" Purposefully offensive. He was annoyed when she just grinned.

"My interests do lean towards the… the unconventional but my interest is purely professional."

Sometime during the conversation he had reached for his knife with his spare hand. He toyed with it, finding it a comfort. She noticed too.

"Is it the scars?" he asked suddenly, grabbing her face. "Do they scare you? Wanna know how I got them?"

"They repulse me!" Eleanor interrupted, answering honestly, impulsively. "You're whole psychic repels me. You're mind, on the other hand, terrifies me. Fascinates me." The last part was whispered.

He stared into her eyes and was startled to realise she was lying about being revolted. There was a spark of lust there. The Joker was not used to people looking at him with lust. Never expected it especially not from such a symmetrical woman. One who apparently was excited by fear.

"You're playing a very dangerous game." He wasn't looking at her. His eyes had drifted up as they often did when he was thinking and talking.

"I'm playing _your_ game."

He lent back. Couldn't argue that. "So no chance of some action?" His tongue traced his lips rudely and suggestively. He wasn't interested in sleeping with her. He was an asexual to all intents and purposes, he just wanted her off guard. His only love: disorder.

"I have to have complete power over the people I sleep with, lunatic or not… You are no one's pawn." There was a pause and suddenly, shockingly, she was close to him. "If I ever have total dominance of you I'll give you the ride of your life. Bad teeth and all."

The Joker started giggling. "You're beginning to grow on me. Not desire. You're too put together. Too proportioned for my tastes."

"Too perfect?"

"Haven't even known each other for an hour and already she's fishing for compliments." It was a sweeping statement directed at his henchmen who obligingly laughed at his little witticism. A couple of seconds too late though. He would have to teach them about cues.

He stood up and did a little skip so he was behind Eleanor. Breathing down her neck like an over attentive lover. One gloved finger touched the curve where her neck met her shoulder. It was curiously intimate, touching that smooth unblemished skin without invitation. He wanted to sink his teeth into her flesh, maim and mark it.

"Gotham is Rome." She almost stuttered.

"Excuse me?"

"The city of Rome burned. You're the fire and I'm Nero. I want to witness this historical moment. Make my own assessment."

"And play the violin?"

"Violin optional." She was calmer now. She had his attention and interest now.

He pulled away and she released a breath. He sauntered over to lounge on the desk. Displaying himself. He ran a hand mockingly down his body. "Personally I can't see how anyone could resist me." His tone was breathy and high once more. "But I find my self a little confounded such a classy _psychologist_ such as yourself is here."

"Curiosity." She shrugged.

He tapped his cheek, thoughtful. "I recall a story about curiosity and a cat." He wrinkled his nose. "Didn't end well."

"Excellent thing I'm not a cat."

He examined his nails, ignoring her for the moment. "It gets pretty rough out there sweetheart. Not sure you could handle it."

"I can." She was tough and defiant.

He flicked his eyes up to her again. Eleanor's gaze was steady. Maybe she was telling the truth and was just as… what word did she use? Unconventional. Was as unconventional as him.

Only one way to find out. He gestured one of his henchmen over who came blindly. He lashed out, with an unsuspected agility and got him in a choke hold.

He brought the knife to his throat.

The Joker held her eyes, unmindful of the man now squirming in his arms. He was insignificant, Eleanor was the priority.

"I'm going to kill this man." The Jokers tongue darted and Eleanor thought he resembled a reptile when he did that.

"Why?" Eleanor asked.

The Joker shrugged. "I don't like him perhaps?" He hoped his palpable lack of a reason would entice a reaction. No luck.

"Go ahead."

The Joker stayed motionless for a moment. Even when he wasn't moving he radiated agitated energy.

"Nothing else to say?"

Eleanor was crazy inside her head but she kept her expression impartial.

"No… wait, yes…. No blood on this dress. It's new." With that statement she rose elegantly and moved to a spot far against the wall. She kept watching avidly though.

She nonchalantly waved her hand. "Proceed."

He delayed a second longer, hoping she would cave and speak. Her mouth stayed firmly shut. He gave a grunt and drew the knife swiftly across his victim's throat. The Joker held him against him as the body twitched in its dying. This man didn't concern him but that was no reason not to savour his passing.

He waited for the rasping, gurgling to end before letting the body fall against the floor. Eleanor hadn't even flinched.

He stretched his shoulders in an elaborate display. Acting as if he had done a hard days work and this noticeable charade excited Eleanor. The man appeared weedy and limp but he had a hidden strength that kept his henchman in a deadly grip while exerting no extreme effort.

He applauded Eleanor. Sardonically, holding his hands at arms length. "Bravo. You passed the test."

"You let me follow you?" Eleanor winced as soon as she said the words. Too needy and feeble.

"I meant, I'll let you live." He giggled. He had had his fill of this woman, gutsy as she was and mad to boot. He made to leave the room.

"Wait! If I can guess one true fact about you let me come on your next heist."

He lifted his eyebrows, intrigued by the challenge. He languidly rolled his head so he was looking at her over his shoulder.

"Maybe." He sounded like a child meanly teasing. The word was slow and annunciated.

"You're a smoker. Were. You were a smoker."

The Joker coughed pointedly. "So? What if I was? Not very insightful. Are you sure you aren't shocked from the death? It disconcerts some people." He was mocking her.

"Smoking means you were addict. That hints at some interesting personality traits. It also means you quit. I could form a whole analyse on that one fact and it would be relatively true."

While she had spoken he had stalked up to her, forcing her backwards but not making her stop talking. He seized her jaw hard in his fingers, decisively hurting Eleanor. She could smell the artificial makeup paints. Heady and acidic. It was overwhelming.

"Means you were human once," she finished in a rasp, alarmed but determined not to set a precedence in which he had the power. He didn't particularly like that statement. It was an insult to him, he was above this writhing struggling species.

He flicked his tongue and this time he was close enough it touched her cheek. Hot, wet and then gone. He let all the spark and hilarity leave his eyes. Leaving them the empty pits of darkness that they were in his bleakest times.

He could now see the fear in Eleanor's eyes and for the second time she comprehended the evilness and gravity that lurked inside the man. Joker, maybe, but it wasn't all fun and games. It also left her weak in the knees and petrified her.

His hand was firm and it was holding her at an uncomfortable angle, forcing her on her toes. He was deceptively tall. Eleanor reached out to grab his jacket lapel to steady herself. An issue of balance, nothing else. But this was the first contact another person had initiated with him that wasn't violent.

It threw him. He wanted her gone but was too engrossed. Who could stomach him? What kind of creature would touch him?

"Is it true?" Eleanor was talking. He had forgotten the conversation, lost in the sudden rush of sensation.

"I was a smoker. Happy?"

"Not excessively."

"You should be." He released her suddenly and she staggered back into her chair. The Joker framed his own face with his hands, indicating the scars. "A smile gets you a long way."

"Congratulations you have a job." He danced towards the door. "Don't call me, I'll call you!"

Then he was gone, skipping and snickering as if he'd had the best time in the world.

Eleanor was left alone. Her first encounter with The Joker. She slept with the lights on that night.

…………………………………………………..


	3. Chapter 3

Days went by

Days went by. And then two weeks. She hadn't heard from him at all and she began to wonder if he really was the rock solid pillar of his word that he claimed.

This confounded her. One thing the Joker could be counted on was doing exactly what he promised.

He was just biding his time and Eleanor forced herself not to obsess. Not to think about the grossly charismatic man any more than necessary.

She stopped keeping the lights on at night, she stopped locking her bathroom door when she showered, invited some of her old lovers round. She resumed her normal life.

She would kill herself if she existed on the edge, any moment expecting The Joker to arrive. He would come when he was ready and if he walked in when she was in the shower, a locked door wouldn't stop him if he wanted to come in.

Eleanor felt a certain thrill however when she filled the bath. This was tempting fate a little. Murphy's Law practically dictated that something would go wrong. She filled a glass with red wine to further provoke fate.

Eleanor knew that there was little chance The Joker would be so intuitive as to interrupt her bath but she needed these little mental gambles to keep her life interesting. If his absence continued to prioritise her life then she was going to get a job at Arkham.

The water was warm and soothed the tension that built up in her body as she subconsciously expected the clown. She sipped the wine, enjoying the benefits of being a trust fund kid.

She'd had sex last night but it hadn't truly satisfied her. She was too preoccupied. The wine and the movement of the water were making her slightly aroused. She thought of Jonathan. The one man she had wanted but hadn't bedded. She suspected he would be an exceptional distraction. At this stage Eleanor wouldn't mind if either he or The Joker showed up.

Neither did. Not while she was in the bath.

She didn't know how she knew he was there really. Probably the smell. Eleanor let him think she was asleep for a moment longer, ordering her mind.

She felt the bed move under his weight. He probably had some fiendish scheme of getting in, snuggling up and making her wake up to his face. Eleanor didn't want him enjoying this moment over much.

"I don't usually let strange men share my bed."

He let out a giggle. How had he repressed it for so long?

"You've met me before," sounding delighted.

"I did not mean unfamiliar. I just meant strange."

He bounced up and down on the bed. "Get up. Get up. Get up!"

He sounded merry and carefree but Eleanor knew if she didn't comply he'd probably persuade her with more hostile means.

He darted to her closet and rifled unceremoniously, cackling while he went. He held dresses up against himself before tossing them cavalierly on the ground behind him. Eleanor wrongly assumed he would pick out her outfit but when he grew bored and left the room she scooped up a simple black dress from the ground.

She dressed while she walked, suspecting he wouldn't be tolerant of her grooming rituals. Eleanor looked at the clock as she went. 5 am. This job would be more trying than she had expected. Oh well madness waited for no man.

Eleanor followed him right out the door and into the elevator. She found herself in a pastel box with The Joker. His arm was brushing hers in what was a clear display of dominance. He didn't have to be that close but for physical intimidation he'd make the effort.

The Joker had his hands clasped behind his back, rocking exaggeratedly from ball of the foot to heel. His mouth moving the whole time though he was silent. Animated in a bizarre combination of soundless talking and chewing, like he was rolling raw meat around in his mouth.

His jerky twitching was only embellished by his clothes. The angular, almost shapeless, cut of The Jokers jacket highlighted every move. It was odd that underneath, his clothes were fitted to his body. The bottle green and murky purple emphasised his other worldliness. It was tailored, expensive but obviously not well maintained. In fact from the smell he lived, ate and slept in the outfit. He was hypnotically dishevelled.

The Joker cut his eyes to Eleanor and smirked, fully aware that she had been scrutinising him. Eleanor blushed, furious that she had been so conspicuous and feeling as guilty as if she had been caught watching porn.

She was also frustrated that she had wasted precious minutes where she had had The Joker to herself.

"Why green and purple?" Eleanor was relieved she had spent time thinking of innocuous question to begin their professional relationship.

"It brings out the colour in my eyes," he fluttered his eye lashes and snickered feverishly.

"I don't think you're that whimsical." Eleanor brushed her hand lightly against the waist coat. "You always have a point."

The Joker eyes dropped swiftly to where her hand briefly rested but quickly returned his eyes to Eleanor. Again with the contact? She was stoutly staring at the wall.

"Green because of the sickness in society, a homage if you will, and purple because it reminds me of dusk."

"Dusk?"

"The harbinger of the night!"

"That was cohesive and symbolic. Very nice." Eleanor had crossed her arms and was looking a little smug. He was evidently able to control himself long enough to act normal.

The Joker didn't like that and he felt the stirring of potent rage. If he didn't direct this the walls would be blood splattered. He couldn't kill her, at least not until after the outing. Man of his word and all that.

"Yeah beautiful, I'm deep." He was outrageously flirtatious.

She held up a delicate hand. "Don't."

"Oh yeah. You don't like compliments. Compliments are tedious," His high rasping voice returned. "But you know what? This…" he gestured in her direction struggling for the ideal word. Failing he repeated himself. "This takes work. To be _that_ constructed! So methinks you actually enjoy the attention."

He made a round 'oh' with his mouth and widened his eyes in fake shock, not attempting to shield the glinting mockery.

Eleanor opened her mouth to retort but The Joker held up a finger.

"Un uh. The lady doth protest too much perhaps."

"Just don't call me beautiful." Eleanor was taking subtle soothing breaths. She knew why she needed to be beautiful. If The Joker choose to believe she was truly an attention whore so be it. She wasn't that riled up, she had learnt to control herself but something about The Joker had her already running on her high even before he started taunting.

"If you want, Princess."

The elevator doors slid open. The first thing Eleanor noticed was a doorman she had never seen standing behind the desk. The second thing was the pair of feet sticking out. This and the blood.

"You killed the doorman," Eleanor observed, answering the question that had been subconsciously flittering around in the back of her mind: How had The Joker gotten into her apartment?

The Joker kicked the immobile foot joyfully. "The new guy comes with the highest recommendations."

'The new guy' was staring vacantly. The Joker leaned over and blew in his ear. When that failed to entice a reaction The Joker slapped him hard. His face remained blank.

This just pleased The Joker immensely and giggling he jerked his thumb at the guy. "You just can't find help like this these days."

He used the palms of his hands to flick the door open, dancing out into the dull morning light. Hands thrust out, welcoming and embracing the day. At his appearance the white van at the curb opened the sliding door.

Eleanor thought this was a testimony to the complete lack of morning culture in the rich suburbs of Gotham. No way would a van like this have gone unnoticed long in peak hour.

"Your chariot, Princess." The Joker, who had apparently settled on the condescending nickname, motioned towards the van.

Eleanor considered complaining, running a hand over her luxurious dress and looking at the dirty van but decided against it.

She was equal with The Joker, one foot in the vehicle when he spoke again.

"This is nothing personal." And he clubbed her hard in the back of the head.

He caught her with a grunt as she slumped. He quickly handed her off to his clown henchman. The Joker shook his hands, looking revolted and uncomfortable.

"I hope she has the decency to at least bleed a little," he murmured cruelly before throwing himself in and slamming the door behind him.

……………………………………………………………

Eleanor blinked once, twice slowly. The floor was pitching underneath her and she didn't know whether it was actually moving or simply the roiling in her head.

It was hot and the air was an effort to breath in, stuffy and stagnant. She couldn't adjust her gaze, too hazy and indistinct. Her heart was thudding in her chest as she struggled to remember what had happened and fought the oncoming panic.

Eleanor forced herself to sit up but a hand, rough but not malicious, pushed her back.

"Easy there lamb chop. We're not there yet." The't' was a sharp punctuation and the noise echoed in her mind, triggering her memories. The Joker.

She had been climbing into the van and then there was a sharp pain. After that, a black out.

She screwed her eyes up. The blurs were hurting her head even more. But mostly so he couldn't look into her eyes and see the fear and confusion. God forbid anyone witness Eleanor out of control.

At least the rattling and shaking was explained. They were obviously still in the van heading… somewhere.

"Time?" she finally asked.

"'Bout noon."

"We've been driving for hours?" Eleanor demanded. It lacked power as a statement as she was lying on her back in the middle of a van. She risked a little jolt to her body as she laid her hand across her forehead. Eleanor felt like she was attempting to hold her head together as it might just explode any moment.

"Well," The Joker began, "We went to HQ, which, you know, you can't see yet because I don't trust you. Now we're on the road again."

"To where?" Eleanor suspected she might have concussion so falling back into the mental abyss was not the smartest idea. She was clinging to his voice to keep her coherent. Thankfully The Jokers voice could hardly be described as lulling or soothing.

"Oh you'll see." He giggled. "Soon you'll see for yourself." As if the van was dictated by his words, it shuddered to a stop.

"Lunch time!" He said it with the fevering enjoyment and hate he asked his favourite catch phrase, 'why so serious?'

At his tone of complete anticipation and excitement Eleanor was relieved. He had something big lined up. She hadn't been hit on the back of the head for no reason.

"You all know what to do." He was talking to his henchmen.

Eleanor thought they knew what would happen if they made a mistake. Many things happened at once. The door slid open and the harsh midday sun burned into her skull. She was also seized just above the elbow and pulled unceremoniously up.

The Joker had her against him, out of the chaotic stamping of henchmen's feet. The jerking made the pain in her head burst in a disarray of colours and white noise. She threw up at his feet.

He stared at the mess before whipping his head around, grinning like the Cheshire cat. "So glad you could come along for the ride, Princess. I do hope you enjoy the show."

Then they were out into the sunshine too. Eleanor in one hand and a huge gun in the other. Eleanor dimly registered screaming. They were in a car park.

It was only The Joker's firm grip that kept her upright as he strode towards a door. He fired random shots of into cars and maybe passer-bys. Then the door was opening and they were into blessed cool. The Joker pulled out a chair, thrust her into it and all with out breaking his gait.

Eleanor looked around. They were in a chain restaurant. A cheesy theme one from the middle ages or the Stone Age. Either way they were surrounded by a lot of rock and no windows.

The henchman had secured the room, the fire exit doors and the people mostly by pointing guns in specific directions. Mostly at heads.

The Joker didn't say anything. His erratic movements were enough to captivate everyone's attention. The silence was weighted and heavy. He leaned against the counter and studied the menu, slowly.

"What's good here?" He finally asked the girl behind the counter. She looked around fifteen and terrified. She automatically shied away when he spoke to her. The Joker's hand snaked out and grabbed her ridiculous apron.

"The scars? Wanna know how I got them?"

The girl struggled and let out a little squeak of unadulterated fear. This wasn't alleviated when he brought the knife up. He didn't press it into her mouth but smoothly stroked the soft skin of her cheek.

"I had an aunt. Used to look after me when I was a kid. When my parents went out. She was a big ugly woman, liked the sauce. Now one night her boyfriend came round. They got in a huge fight. Huge," He widened his eyes as if to indicate how large. "He dumps her because she can't take a joke. She doesn't like that. Oh no not…not at all. So she sees me sitting there, all helpless and innocent."

His tongue flicked out. His tone dropped and octave, his eyes crazed as he worked himself towards the climax.

"so she starts muttering, coming towards me the whole time, only now she's got a knife. 'Can't take a joke?'" he mimed a high falsetto. "'I'll show him who can't take a joke.' She carves her face up right in front of me. 'What about you?' she asks, bleeding like a beast. 'Do you want to smile?'"

He let the quiet drag for a minute. They all knew how this story ended. They could see.

"Now you know…. Want a demonstration?" He squeezed her face with a renewed vigour and tears coursed down her cheeks.

He let her go suddenly and she staggered back. "Not today." His voice had resumed its cheery, reedy quality.

There were sirens now. Growing louder with every passing second. He jerked his head towards the door and two clown masked henchman went to guard it.

"Cops," they called back.

The Joker jumped up and down excited. "Goody. It's a play date!"

Eleanor watched him riveted. The ache was still there behind her eyes and her mouth parched but the world was now in sharper focus. She was intrigued by the story. Complete lies of course but intrigued nonetheless.

He was now stalking back and forward, barely containing himself. The Joker was waiting for something. He kept flicking his pocket watch out, checking the time and slipping it back in. Outside there were a medley of noises; cars, sirens, shouting.

The Joker froze misstep, closed his eyes and raised his hand, feeling the air.

He opened his eyes, made a point with his fingers and said, simply, "now."

One of the henchmen hurried forward with a phone.

The Joker pressed it against his ear.

"Hellooooo co-missioner."

He paused for the commissioner to answer and chuckled. "Now now co-missioner. There's no need for language like that amongst friends."

The commissioner resumed talking and there was silence in the room, punctuated only by The Jokers occasional "hmm" or "erm" or giggling.

Eleanor found herself wondering, like most others in the room what might happen. She was sure this was all part of The Jokers grand scheme but she couldn't see how it all connected.

"This is how it is. I have a group of people who don't eat, drink or leave until I see The Batman. And for every two hours he isn't here, somebody will die. See if they don't."

………………………………………………………………

The Joker snapped the phone shut and indulged his raspy laughing.

He swung his eyes around. Good. Absolute terror. Lovely lovely day.

It felt good to have them so subordinate. He had two hours to play with their heads. Two whole delightfully debasing hours. He knew Batman wouldn't come until dark. Batman never showed his masked face unless it was night time.

He stretched his arms, cracked his neck. He had to be warm before terrorising. Wouldn't want to pull something.

He opened his mouth but The Joker was distracted. Eleanor was rising shakily to her feet.

"Yes-uh princess?"

"Water," she mumbled.

"Little more clearly please!"

"I need a glass of water. I need it!"

The Joker scoffed. She met his gaze forcefully. Maybe hitting her in the head beat some backbone into her.

"Did you miss my little dialogue? Nobody drinks, including us!"

Eleanor took a few more steps forward, looking oddly out of place in her appealing dress. The Joker wondered if she was going to hit him. He'd quite like that.

She moved straight past him and pulled a bottle of water from a cooler. She deliberately, boldly cracked the lid open.

The Joker narrowed his eyes. Was the stupid pretty girl actually going to defy him in front of his employees and hostages?

She lifted the bottle to her lips. The hostages kept their eyes down. They all thought they knew how this would end.

"Stop," He hissed.

"Make me," she said calmly back. She took a huge mouthful of water.

Within seconds he had his arm snaked around her neck, clamping her in a choke hold.

"What are you doing?" His voice was low, his eyes darting back and forth.

"Let's make one thing clear," she continued in a quiet voice, so only he could here. "I'm here by choice. I'm not a detainee or one of you thugs. If I want a drink I am damn well going to have one."

The Joker nodded as if thoughtfully considering it all before baring his teeth in a snarl. "Take one more mouthful and I'll make you _bleed_."

Eleanor was scared but she couldn't establish a precedent where The Joker had complete power. With barely a tremor in her hands she took another minute sip.

He had the knife out against her cheek before she could swallow. He didn't quite understand the intensity of his feelings at the thought of cutting her up. It was overwhelming, the like of which he hadn't felt for so long.

"Leave her alone!" A single voice rang out.

Eleanor looked confused. The Joker was ecstatic. Had a hostage really spoken out against him?

"So, you want to be a hero?" The Joker didn't loosen his grip but looked at the man.

"Come on man. She's sick. She needs the water."

"Why are defending her? Is it because she is bayutiful? Because you want to have your wicked way with her?"

The hostage couldn't think of anything to say.

The Joker wasn't done. "I didn't see you saying anything when I threatened the little Miss over there. Probably cos you couldn't sleep with her." He made a disgusted sound, his tongue flitting out. "Guys will do anything for a peace of tail. Let's see if you still want to help when she's all marked up."

He drew the knife, controlled and slow, down Eleanor's cheek. She gasped and fisted her hands in his long purple jacket. Her eyes fluttered closed.

He brought his lips close to her ear, like a lover. "That's what happens if you cross me."

She opened her eyes, took in the ripe, flaking make-up and the vagrant. She didn't look scared or in pain… in fact she looked satisfied.

"That won't scar," she whispered. Eleanor shoved him away hard and took another gulp of water. She sashayed back to her seat, a vision of confidence and sensuality, seemingly oblivious to the bloody sluicing down her face.

Her heart was thumping furiously. He had been precise and careful not to hurt her. It had stung but combined with the other sensations, the feel of his arm, the course material under her fingers, the pungent smell; it had been a stirring experience. For the first time she wondered what it would be like to bed The Joker. Probably fatal.

The Joker watched her go. Why hadn't he cut her deeper? He still could if he wanted to but he just watched her walk.

One of the hostages, a young boy started breathing heavily. Hyperventilating even.

"What now?" The Joker groaned, furious at the distraction and relieved. He didn't like the curve balls Eleanor kept throwing.

"My son," a woman stuttered. "He has epilepsy. His medication is in the car." Her voice was shaking on the edge of hysteria.

"Please," she forced out, begging.

The Joker giggled, ignoring the pleading woman. He brought out the phone.

"Co-missioner. Just thought you should know the time limit has been upped. We have a very sick little boy."

……………………………………………………………………

Commissioner Gordon tried to wrap his mind about what he was hearing.

Initially The Joker had simply wanted Batman on location. He hadn't really questioned this. It made sense as The Joker had made no secret about the fact he loved his little encounters with the masked crusader.

The only complication? He was officially 'hunting' Batman. He was still a fugitive for what he had done to Dent or, at least, what the public assumed he had done.

"Are you trying to tell me there is an ill boy?" Gordon finally managed to ask.

"Yeah, he's supposed to start seizing all over the place."

The fiend on the phone couldn't stop cackling. It made Gordon sick to his stomach. He also didn't know whether to trust what The Joker was saying.

"How do I know if you are telling the truth?" Gordon couldn't help but ask.

There was a pause and Gordon instantly regretted asking.

"If you could hear the mother complaining and begging you would. She's so loud." The Jokers control was fraying, coming apart as his childish voice slipped into lower tones.

"Shut up." He growled.

Gordon could hear the woman on the other side of the phone.

There was single gun shot and more silence. Gordon's heart was in his mouth.

"Well glad that's over. It was getting boooooring. Oh it's been two hours." The Jokers voice was high and composed again.

"You bastard. You bastard." That was all Gordon could say.

"Yehah. Regardless, how bout you give me a call when The Batman arrives." There was a final frenzied laugh and he hung up.

Gordon clenched his jaw. "I don't care how you do it; get Batman here as soon as possible."

………………………………………………………………………………………

Eleanor stared at the dead bleeding woman. She wasn't upset or ruffled. The Joker had said from the very first phone call that people were going to die. She was just relieved it wasn't her. The look in his eyes as she had challenged him had been chilling.

The young boy seemed in no immediate danger, just a little frightened. If only his mother had waited till things were dire she might still be alive.

Batman would be here soon. The Joker seemed wholly focused on his plans. He may be insane but he was devout.

He was snapping orders at his men, herding hostages in directions, sporadically clapping his hands and giggling. He was in full swing madness and having a ball.

There were wires and barrels of gasoline being attached to certain hostages. As others were being taken to be hidden in one of the storage rooms. Eleanor assumed The Joker would explain the plan in detail eventually. Or not. But asking questions wouldn't help.

When his phone rang he let out a whoop. Eleanor actually smiled. She hadn't seen this much uncontained happiness since she was a child at Christmas.

"Good evening dear friend…. Now that's not very polite. Here's what I want." The Joker had his knife in his hand. It kept him focused. "You have to make a choice. If you come in the door you'll blow up the hostages and I'll give myself up. Or you let us all go and I live to fight another day. To kill another day." He tapped his knife to accentuate his words.

Eleanor narrowed her eyes. There was more to it than this. Batman was smart enough to figure out how to get into the building without triggering the explosives. The Joker understood this better than anyone. In his mind Batman was the closest thing he had to a kindred spirit.

The Joker widened his eyes at something Batman said and clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle the giggles. "Well I'll leave you to mull it over." He hung up. He walked past each hostage and showered them with his standard joker cards, mumbling under his breath.

He slid into the seat opposite Eleanor fluidly. He slammed his hands hard on the table.

"Penny for your thoughts?" His tongue flicked out as he tried to gauge what was going on behind her blank face.

"Was shooting the woman part of the plan?"

"No but I lurve to improvise." He rolled his head around, stretching his neck.

"Fair enough. And you are aware that Batman will of course find an option C to get in?"

"Of course. I'm counting on it." He furrowed his brow and looked offended. "Ye of little faith."

Eleanor just raised a delicate eyebrow and cast her gaze towards the door. He could see her wondering if she was going to get blown up too and oddly enough she wasn't panicked. One day he'd find something to alarm her.

The Joker took this moment of distraction to scrutinise her. She was still glorious but more dishevelled now. Her lovely bone structure was undermined by her pallid complexion, dark circled under her eyes from the concussion.

Topped off by the line of blood that had travelled all the way down her neck and pooling at the top of her breasts.

It was drying but he had a perverse desire to lick it off.

And with disgust he realised that at that moment her wanted her in the most animalistic way. He wanted to hold her down, make her gasp, hell, and make her scream as he was deep inside.

Strange. He had seen her at her most radiant but add a hint of sickness and splash of blood and she was his dream girl.

The Joker also knew he never could because if he did she would be the queen to his Jack. No, he would tolerate her till they both grew tired of this little experiment or until one of them died.

He was interrupted when Eleanor returned her attention to him.

"Penny for _your_ thoughts?" She inquired.

He slapped her. "You ask too many questions." He danced away.

**AN: yeah I don't own Batman (disclaimer and what not). This is an incredibly hard story to write. The Joker alone is tiring. Eleanor is difficult because OCs are delicate to write into the batman-verse. I know she's beautiful but she's not a Mary-Sue. It's more the dichotomy of someone looking wonderful but having a horrible soul underneath. Neither are supposed to be particularly likeable but interesting. Let me know what you think.**

**MD666**


	4. Chapter 4

Eleanor's cheek stung

Eleanor's cheek stung. The Joker had slapped her hard across the face where he had sliced her. It had been a shallow cut but it was stinging and burning. She spared a thought for the possibility of infection and dismissed it quickly. Infection could be taken care of. Being blown into a thousand tiny pieces would be more problematic.

She wasn't a fatalist. Eleanor enjoyed life in her own dark way. The Joker seemed to believe that death was a suitable price to pay for his anarchy. However if she was going to go out, this blaze of glory wasn't so bad.

Eleanor shook her head. Her thoughts were finally clearing, the pain from the first blow fading to a distant manageable ebb. She had to focus on The Joker.

She had a very clear philosophy on life. Humans were animals. They were territorial, aggressive and driven by primitive urges unhindered by morals. Survival instincts dominated everything they did.

Eleanor had lived her life largely based on this idea but with a touch of indifference. Money allowed her to forgo, to a degree, existing purely in survival mode and indulge in the pleasure.

There were exceptions to the rule. Not just good men like the Commissioner Gordon. She knew he had a breaking point. Maybe if his children were threatened he'd kill. Protection of the species and his own genetic line would win out over any moral code based on the sanctity of life. He would say it was influenced by love but dress it up anyway he likes Commissioner Gordon would still have killed.

Eleanor was referring to Batman. Iron clad in his decision not to murder. He hadn't even killed The Joker when surely that was the most sensible, kind thing to do for society. He had such ridiculous faith in a justice system that was easily corrupted. This was either foolishness or conviction.

The Joker was another example. Sliding through life causing havoc seemingly untouched by basic needs such as food and shelter. A fascinating labyrinth of a mind and a healthy dose of sickness combined to produce the symbol pacing in front of her. Making a mockery of every preconception on appropriate human behaviour.

The Joker was aware of her watching and he didn't let her distract him. Eleanor knew that her continued accompaniment, her continued existence, relied on chance and the outcome of whatever game he choose. Eleanor knew that him figuring her out wasn't the problem, it was when he got bored that she was in serious trouble.

If it came down to physical confrontation she would fight tooth and nail to survive.

There were strange noises coming from the roof. The henchmen cast their gaze upwards. The masks concealed any emotions they might be feeling but Eleanor was guessing it was fear. It sounded like Batman had found an alternate entrance. When you had that much technology at your fingertips coming in through the roof was hardly a trial.

The Joker checked his pocket watch. "Longer than I expected," he murmured to himself. Then he threw himself into a flurry of activity. Shouting instructions at the henchmen, clicking and pointing to illustrate. He seized Eleanor into a choke hold and held a knife to her throat, putting them both between the hostages tied to gasoline and the door to the car park.

"What's happening?" Eleanor asked. She thought it was about time she got let into the plan.

"Batman has a weakness for beautiful girls," he giggled and twitched. She couldn't see him but she imagined his tongue darting out. "Wouldn't you be outstanding in that respect?"

One of The Jokers henchmen came sailing across the room. As entrances went Batman's were always pretty spectacular. The Jokers grip tightened in eagerness, his whole body thrumming with excitement.

Eleanor had to admit she was harbouring a certain amount of exhilaration. The Batman and The Joker in one room. Time to watch the fireworks.

"Let her go," Batman rasped in his deep grating voice. He didn't waste time on preliminaries.

"I don't wanna. I want to keep her. I like her." The Joker said with a grin. He loved that everything he said was a barb in Batman's carefully constructed ethics code.

"Did you really think I would kill all these innocent people?"

The Joker sniggered. "No really. Though I'm offended you don't think I'm worth more." He jiggled the knife against Eleanor's throat.

"How about I kill this innocent girl? It won't be quite as good as killing all these little peons but it would go some way to salving the hurties."

This was Eleanor's little test of the evening. The Joker needed her to act a certain way, play her part in the theatrics. She obliged with a very convincing struggled. She enjoyed it a bit too much, digging an elbow into his ribs. Revenge for the face scratch which had now turned an angry red.

"Shh shh shh," he murmured to her stroking her hair. She had acted well. Well he assumed she was acting. She could genuinely want to be out of his clutches.

"Stop," Batman growled. The Joker jerked his attention back to Batman.

"I knew you wouldn't kill them and I knew you wouldn't let me go. In fact I was banking on it. I though I'd take this, uh, this opportunity to make a little point. Draw attention to few short comings."

Batman took a threatening step forward. The Joker waved the knife, reminding Batman that someone's life was in his hand. Batman paused.

"I want you to know what the difference between you and me is. Do you know?"

"There are no similarities."

"Ha!" The Joker burst into laughter. "No, no, no." He smacked his lips. "No!" He pointed the knife at Batman. "The one difference between me and you, is I've… already made the choice people like us have to make. I was decisive. None of this… teetering uh on the edge… and every time you refused to make the choice more people will die."

There was deadly hatred in Batman's eyes. No mask disguised that.

"People are dying because you are crazy."

Eleanor felt The Joker tense against her back. "No!" he snapped, with none of the childlike whimsy of before. He really didn't like that. He composed himself. "Thankfully I'm here to make the decision easy for you. One more incentive to hurry up and grow a pair."

The Joker took a large step back pulling Eleanor with him. "I had no intention of you opening the door. I planned on doing it for you and pulling you through after me. Only sensible way to live is without rules."

He laughed hysterically. Batman made to leap after him but he was one step ahead. The Joker had the door open. There was explosion.

Eleanor's heart was thudding, there was a ringing in her ears and the thundering continued. In the hurricane of chaos and disaster The Joker was the only solid thing. Eleanor clutched him, needing to trust him to get her out alive. He could just as easily save himself but his grip was firm.

He seemed to know where he was going even through the dust and flying chunks of cement and what she prayed wasn't people. Eleanor expected bullets at any minute from the police and when they didn't come she was baffled. Even though they couldn't see The Joker, surely they would take a risk, firing blindly into the pandemonium.

Then the van was in front of them and he was shoving her in. The disorientation didn't begin to fade until he had been driving for about ten minutes, his eyes constantly darting to the mirror to ascertain whether they were being followed.

"That was the master plan?"

A possessed smile crossed his face. "Yehah!"

"And the cops?"

"Rigged the explosives right under where they would have set up the perimeter."

Eleanor shook her head in awe. That must have taken lots of planning. Her hands were trembling but not from fear. She was experiencing an amazing adrenalin rush, she could barely control the grin spreading across her face.

"You're magnificent," she said. Eleanor instantly regretted it. She didn't want him to think she enjoyed her time with him too much.

The Joker just seemed so surprised about getting a compliment that he didn't register the possible implied meanings of the statement. He probably would later when he was lying in the dark waiting to fall asleep. Did he sleep.

"But your henchmen probably died," Eleanor observed.

He shrugged. "I can get more." He giggled.

The Joker skidded to a halt outside her apartment, swinging his head round to look at her. "Eleanor," his voice sounded as normal as it was ever going to get, his eyes serious in his white face. "I had a really great time tonight. Can I call you?"

His imitation was straight out of a corny teen movie and before she knew if a laugh bubbled out of her throat. It was a small laugh but Eleanor laughed so rarely it was somewhat symbolic. She must really be punch drunk on the thrill of it all.

"So I can come along next time?"

The Joker flicked a tongue and seemed to contemplate the question. "I'll think about it." She would get no more out of him than that so she gracefully got out of the van. Eleanor walked toward her apartment purposefully not looking back. It wouldn't have mattered, he squealed off without even shutting the door.

She walked past the doorman and conceded the advantages of the new man. He stared straight ahead, not registering her dirty clothes, bloody visage and sunken eyes.

Eleanor threw open the door and sighed. She was confronted with Jonathans back. He was staring pensively out of the window and Eleanor was struck by the contrasts between him and The Joker. His suit was immaculate, his hair clean and pristine, his icy blue eyes hidden behind glasses.

He turned to look, hearing her entrance. His only reaction to her dishevelled appearance was a slight widening of the eyes. It was so controlled and careful after the exaggerated movements of The Joker. She grinned broadly. Everything was so alien after just a few hours in the madman's company.

The grin inspired a more obvious reaction. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. It was amazing how they were having a whole conversation and neither one of them was talking.

"What are you doing here Jonathan?"

"I came by to discuss things and when you weren't here I invited myself to wait."

She saw he had poured himself a glass of scotch. Jonathan truly had made himself at home.

"I also watched some TV and saw The Joker was the prime time star. They mentioned a beautiful female hostage. I knew it was you." He smirked. "Isn't ours a remarkable society that even amidst the chaos and death they took the time to note you were beautiful?"

"You didn't know how long I would be. You could have left and come back?"

"I wanted to make sure you made it out alive."

Eleanor picked up his glass and took a tiny sip. "Mmm. And the real reason?"

"Your TV is so much nicer and you have better resources." Jonathan took the glass back and his fingers brushed hers. The contact felt electric and for a second she didn't dare breath.

They made eye contact briefly. He put the glass down and took her chin in his hand. Jonathan tilted her head slightly to the side. She winced as his thumb brushed her cut. She had always thought Jonathan was tall, mainly because of the intensity of his presence but now she realised he was just barely taller than her. Certainly not taller than The Joker.

"Let me take care of that." He took Eleanor's hand and led her to the bathroom. She perched on the edge of the bathtub while he rifled through her medicine cabinet. He brought out some antiseptic and tissues. Eleanor deliberately avoided eye contact while Jonathan professionally and efficiently began gently wiping her face.

He was close enough she could feel his breath on her skin. Eleanor also noted how good and inviting he smelt. The Joker had been so unkempt that if she thought about it too much she felt nauseous. It made her appreciate Jonathan's cleanliness.

"So did you have fun?"

"So much fun." Her great big smile was back.

"You sound like a school girl who went on her first date." Anyone else would find it odd that she was soiled, bleeding but still unbelievable happy. Not Jonathan.

"Nothing so dramatic," Eleanor retorted.

"You like him don't you," Jonathan said. Anyone who didn't know him as well as Eleanor would have entirely missed the accusation in his tone.

"Infatuated to a certain degree," Eleanor confessed.

"That's the same thing."

"Jealous?"

He looked up, his icy eyes neutral but still managing to make her stomach do a turn over. "Never."

Jonathan started cleaning her neck.

"He's incredible, Jonathan. Like nothing we've ever seen. Not even in our most demented patients."

Jonathan nodded, concentrating on his work and absorbing her words. "Have you formed a diagnosis?"

"Not yet. I'm not even sure I could, it's such a bizarre combination. He's sadistic, psychotic and a masochist. I thought split personality but his planning doesn't allow for any long periods of blacking out."

"Gollum complex?"

"Pardon?"

"Split personality but in the vein of Gollum from the Lord of the Rings. The personality manifests itself into two aspects. One the vicious, calculating evil leader and the other the childlike mischievous enforcer. Both sides are aware of the other, existing simultaneously and cooperating."

"New thesis?"

"I have some free time."

Eleanor considered it. "It's possible."

"But not all encompassing of The Jokers problems." There was a brief lull in the conversation.

"So Jonathan, to what do I owe the pleasure? I am assuming it's not just a social visit to see me."

"Eleanor, this isn't like you at all. Normally you assume everything's about you?"

Eleanor made a face. Jonathan brought out the petty side of her.

"Fine, it wasn't _all_ about you. You know how I like to supplement my income with a little illegal work?"

"A little?"

He continued like she had never spoken. "I have a collector with an intense interest in rare artworks and it just so happens Gotham is getting, on loan, a collection from Britain. It isn't the kind of subtle sneaky job that I'm so good at."

"More of the brazen, guns a blazing, show down The Joker does?"

"Exactly."

Eleanor shrugged. "I'll see what I can do. Now help me stand so I can get in the shower."

He smoothly assisted her to stand and slid the zip of her dress down for her. "Want help in there?"

Eleanor smiled. "Not today." She pushed him out the door.

**AN: Ok I feel like I should make something clear in light of a certain event. My story was added to a stupid Mary Sue C2, something about the cropping up of a bunch of 'unrecognizable Harley Q's.' **

**This doesn't particularly bother me. This goes alone with the territory of being a fanfic writer. You get those petty mean spirited people who don't like your story and instead of giving constructing criticism or just not reading it, they feel it's their right, nay duty, to be nasty self righteous shrews. Some go even further than just flaming and form whole groups dedicated to this. These are usually the cowards who haven't written anything themselves. **

**Anyone whose posted a story knows it's like putting a piece of yourself up there to be judged. Now I have three brothers so there is little to no insult I have never heard. It has however inspired me to clear up some points on confusion.**

**I know who Harley Quinn is. I know she's a character from the comic books and the girlfriend of The Joker. I've never read the comics so beyond this I know nothing. Therefore you'll understand that Eleanor is in no way based on her and similarities are purely coincidental. Harley seems and interesting character and I've enjoyed fics with her immensely.**

**But this is also based upon the movie the Dark Knight, and The Joker within this film. Harley is not in the film and so we're within out rights to introduce her or ignore her as we see fit. She is not the be-all and end-all of women characters in The Jokers life.**

**Wow for peaceful explanation this has totally resembled a rant in length. **

**This is me signing out.**

**Forever enjoying the uniqueness, the diversity and the combination of new and familiar ideas in The Dark Knight. **

**MD666**


	5. Chapter 5

The Jokers sleep patterns were disruptive and inconsistence at the best of times

The Jokers sleep patterns were disruptive and inconsistence at the best of times. He never scheduled time to sleep; he just kept going and going until his body collapsed.

He had a safe place to sleep, more of a hovel and less of a home, and somehow he always managed to drag himself back there before his body gave out completely.

He always dreamed. His slumber journeys were almost as fragmented and chaotic as his everyday life. Never any coherent concepts, just flashes of colour and snippets of songs he had overheard during the day.

Orange featured predominately and he had no real idea why. Just psychedelic blasts of neon orange against a silent black background. Sometimes the silence was permeated by lyrics. It was always that ridiculous poppy trash that seemed to flood the radio. Disjointed poets lamenting to bass lines about disadvantage when he knew that in reality they probably scratched themselves with fingers laden with diamonds. Money money money… must be funny in a rich mans world.

Those crazy Swedish Muppets had gotten one thing right. Money was funny. Money was hilarious. Just not to a rich man. The wealthy took their funds very seriously.

The Jokers dreams were different that night. They were comprehensive. They were from his past.

He didn't remember how old he was exactly or the circumstances but his mother had put on a CD. He remembered she had explained that is was soundtrack to a play about Jesus Christ.

Who was this Jesus Christ and why did he get songs written about him? The Joker hadn't fully understood and his mother wasn't exactly a theologian to best elucidate the complex influence Christ had had on this society.

She had simply said he was a special man and then she played the song. It was okay. A bit sappy for his tastes, some girl crooning softly. That wasn't the point of the moment. He just remembered that he wanted to be special. That he wanted to be someone they wrote songs about and remembered.

That was what went through his mind back then. In his dream it was all about the song. Word for word the lyrics played through his head. He wondered if they were the correct words. It would be odd if they were, he'd only heard the song once or twice in his youth. Probably his psyche filled in the blanks.

The woman in the song wanted to soothe her hero and this made The Joker angry. If Jesus was so special, such a strong man, why did he need to be soothed? Was he so fallible?

To complacently hand himself over to the musical whims of some woman and her fancies?

Not just a woman but anyone.

He was supposed to be usurping the accepted, conventional order of society and he was having a lie down?

The Joker quite liked the idea of this Judas guy. Much more committed.

Judas was Batman but did this make him Jesus? Not likely.

……………………………………………………………………..

It was hard to describe the balance of emotions inside. The delicate teetering between anticipation and overwhelming fear. The dread The Joker inspired was magnified in his absence. When he was in front of her, corporeal, he was less scary. At these times he could snap and kill her but that was the risk she took with him.

When she couldn't see him, when he was less than a man and more of an idea, that's when he haunted her. Eleanor knew that, at any moment, he could jump out and destroy her. The expectancy built inside her body until it was a psychical thrum and finally she was exhausted.

This would be how The Joker would control her life. Through implication and threat.

The worst thing was that she had the distinct feeling he was out there watching her. Not all the time but she would occasionally get a cold shiver down her spine and she knew his cold black eyes were on her then.

Eleanor had to give a lecture on her findings with the African tribe to the psychology class at Gotham University. It was a huge hall and the lights were so bright she couldn't see the faces in the stands. She knew they were leaning forward, eagerly absorbing her words, dissecting, agreeing or debunking her theory in their mind.

Eleanor couldn't even be amused. She had that chilling feeling down her back. Some where in the room The Joker was watching.

"Dr Laurence?"

Eleanor realised she'd been standing there like a deer in headlights after she'd been asked a question. She could see The Joker laughing at her.

She took a deep breath and composed herself. She had an idea. Eleanor plastered a charming smile on her face and saw them instantly respond.

"You wanted to know one of the major differences between the '_civilised'_ cultures and tribal ones? They are much more secure in their concept of identity. They define it themselves. We as a culture, rely on things such as law, films, artwork. There is a new art show at Gotham museum, I recommend you go and look and imagine all those artworks being destroyed. Would we loose something or in the end are they just pretty pictures on canvas?"

The answer was obvious. To this material society the affluence and sophistication of art was intrinsic. If a particularly valuable painting got destroyed Gotham would feel its loss keenly. The papers would lament that event much more than say the death of a hooker.

Eleanor figured that out and hoped The Joker would also. The Joker was smart enough to realise that she was baiting him into doing this. It would be interesting to see if he would do it.

Eleanor ended the lecture and answered some of the more informal questions. She deliberately didn't look for The Joker, make him think his presence was inconsequential.

She smiled broadly, bantered socially and maintained a perfectly correct demeanour. No one mentioned Jonathan Crane, not even her old teachers. Even though it was common knowledge that up until she had left for Africa they were inseparable.

Ah how the mighty have fallen. His name had once been gold in these corridors. Mud isn't worth as much. She made a mental note to rub that in.

Eleanor made it out into the sun and breathed deeply. After a year in Africa she had come to appreciate wide open spaces and sun. Both lacking in Gotham.

Her phone rang offensively.

"Yes?" she answered rather curtly.

"Eleanor?"

"Oh hello Nancy." Nancy was one of those acquaintances rather than friends. They had been thrust together as children when their parents needed other prosperous kids for their own offspring.

Nancy called occasionally, mainly if there was a big event planned. Eleanor usually declined and Nancy got to feel morally superior until she noticed that another long amount of time had passed and she needed to repeat the process.

"How are you?"

"Fine, just finished giving a lecture. How are you?"

"I just got back from the French Rivera. Now just passing the time shopping and attending parties.

Eleanor stifled a yawn; she was suffocating in the mediocrity of this conversation. "That's interesting." It wasn't that Nancy was stupid or ditzy she just lacked motivation and imagination. In fact of all her pre-psychology associates Nancy was the most tolerable.

"So I was wondering if you wanted to come to a party tonight?"

"Trashy or trust fund?" Eleanor only ever went to the trashy parties at the night clubs where she would get drunk, let go and had sex with a complete stranger. The trust fund parties she avoided like the plague. Worse than the plague.

"Trust fund _but_ its Bruce Wayne's party so the line might blur."

"Bruce Wayne?" Eleanor's interest was piqued. Bruce Wayne was a fascinating person. A few years younger than her, he had been a petulant youth and a trouble maker. Then he had disappeared for several years, been declared dead, came back and was now living like the most dedicated playboy.

He'd probably tell an interesting story and she needed a distraction from The Joker and the paranoia he inspired.

……………………………………………………………….

He had been surveying her after that last outing had been such a success. As an observer she had been adequate and there was that glorious moment when she had dared to speak against him and got to run his knife down that supple skin.

The Joker narrowed his eyes. It had been surprisingly easy to get an apartment across from her. He had plenty of money lying around waiting to be burnt. His tongue darted out to touch the scars. He giggled but quickly stemmed it. There was no one here to perform for. He didn't have to exaggerate his mental fragility when he was inside his own head. The Joker allowed the darkness to swallow him when he was alone.

His make-up was greasy and almost gone. The red was still smudged in and the black around his eyes dominated his face but overall it would have to be redone soon.

The Joker liked Eleanor more this way. She let go of the beautiful image and let herself be. Less celebrity and more dangerous animal. He smirked at himself. His limited experience with women showed as he dredged up every cliché in the book to describe her.

She was walking around in her underwear talking on the phone. She was smiling and it was genuine. None of that false charisma. He wondered who she was talking to and shook his head. He leant back in the chair and propped his feet up. He was slouching and playing with his knife.

He wasn't taking this moment to asses her, he didn't want distance interfering in that. When those moments came The Joker wanted to be able to touch her, hurt her and smell her fear.

This was to see if Commissioner Gordon showed up at her door or The Batman. This was to find out if she was a trap. So far she had done a lot of reading and had a lot of sex. It wasn't really the riveting viewing he'd expected. He'd secretly hoped she do something taboo like sacrifice an animal.

Eleanor hung up the phone still grinning broadly. He saw the light flick on in the bedroom and smirked. There was some voyeuristic pleasure about watching her while she remained clueless. Violating.

Eleanor pulled out a dress.

"No, no, no, _noooooo_. Not _that_ one! That's so boring," he mumbled under his breath.

She ignored his advice strangely enough and slipped into it. The Joker stopped playing with the knife.

It seemed little Eleanor had plans for this evening. The black dress fell to the floor but the back was completely open, exposing her flawless skin. The knife jiggled eagerly in his hand, almost as if it had a mind of its own. It was imagining the bloody tangle of designs it could draw along her back. The Joker bit his lip.

He'd have to kill someone tonight. Some pretty woman with black hair and a black dress.

………………………………………………………………

She'd just come out of the bathroom when the phone rung. Eleanor answered it without looking closely at who it was.

"Hello."

"You're not wearing any clothes are you?"

"Jonathan?"

"You always have a different voice if you answer the phone without clothes." His voice was clipped and precise. He was trying to control the emotions as, Eleanor suspected, he pictured her naked.

Eleanor allowed herself a smile. As long as she kept any hint of it out of her voice, in the privacy of her own apartment she wouldn't hide the fact Jonathan made her happy. Just as long as he didn't know.

"I am wearing underwear so you're only half right," Eleanor said neutrally.

"Underwear or lingerie?"

She bit her lip and stifled a laugh. "Stop acting like an eleven year old pervert."

"Every man is an eleven year old pervert inside. How did the lecture go?"

"Very well, thank you. Your name is not being bandied about with the same frequency that it once was." It was a caustic barb designed to give her the upper hand. Jonathan had revelled in the glory his ardour for his work had inspired.

She felt his glare across the phone and could see his pursed lips as he paused, thinking of an appropriate response. "Their conservatism was ever a drawback. I am well shot of them."

"Of course." She didn't disguise the mocking in her voice. You always hurt the ones you love but no one ever says that the majority of the time it isn't accidental but intended.

"You give a lovely speech."

Eleanor wondered if Jonathan meant in general or in this instance. She knew he had a tendency to spy on subjects thinking that would give him a more honest, untainted, understanding off them.

"Were you there?" Eleanor demanded.

"Not in all intents of the word."

"Elaborate, Jonathan!" Her tone left no room for negotiation.

"I may have placed a transmitter device in the microphone." At least he sounded somewhat guilty for his mischievous act.

"I should have known."

"I did like that last bit you slipped in there about the artworks. Do you think The Joker was there?"

"Almost certain. If he's half he man I believe he is he'll know I'm manipulating him though."

"Let's hope he is curious enough to wonder why."

"And doesn't decide to simply kill me." She allowed some cynicism to enter the conversation.

"Now Eleanor, no need to be such a fatalist. You know I would be most upset if any harm came to you."

Eleanor rolled her eyes. "Oh really?"

"Yes! I would think I would be entirely inconsolable for at least a week."

Jonathan sounded so sincere when he said it that she couldn't even allow herself to be offended. Instead, ridiculously, she smiled again. Such was the affect Jonathan had on her. He could quite literally get away with murder… even hers. Something about those big angelic eyes.

"Very flattering," she said witheringly.

"So how paranoid are you these days?"

"He's definitely watching me but probably not with the frequency I imagine he is." Eleanor had felt that uncomfortable physical ache she had associated with him watching her with increasing regularity. She assumed he had more important things to do than track her so she guessed her mind was running wild with the suspicious fantasy.

"I'd watch you consistently," Jonathan offered. It was his back handed, odd way of complimenting her.

She'd punish him for it. "That's because you want me but can't have me," she taunted.

"That and you have a penchant for wandering around sans clothes. I am a man, Eleanor." His voice was husky. Jonathan was messing with her. He reserved the husky attack for when he particularly wanted her to need him.

"As much as I love where this conversation is heading I have an appointment."

"A party?"

"Bruce Wayne and I need to find something suitably devastating to wear."

"Wear that black dress."

"Half my wardrobe is compiled of black dresses."

"I am referring to _that_ black dress. That way if The Joker is watching, he'll have something to look at."

"Oh _the _black dress! It's a bit like tempting fate don't you think?"

"For once in your life Eleanor, don't argue with me and trust my masculine advice."

Jonathan didn't wait for a response but hung up the phone.

Normally Eleanor hated it when he hung up on her but she knew his brusque exit meant she had gotten to him to a degree. This was entirely satisfying and so she was willing to wear the dress even if she thought it was a dangerous idea.

Eleanor pulled out the dress and slipped into it easily. The black silk floated to her feet and covered her heels completely. It meant she had to walk cautiously and correctly for fear of ending up in an ungraceful heap. Thankfully she had had elegance breed into her at a young age.

It tied around her neck. The dress didn't reveal much cleavage and it wasn't clingy. Its sensuality stemmed from the fact it exposed her entire back. There in lay the danger.

Eleanor could remember the look in The Jokers eyes as he had cut her cheek. His delight in blemishing, marking, her flesh was painfully evident. The intensity had matched that of any lover. He looked at her flawless body and didn't see perfection. He saw possibility. An untouched canvas.

Wearing this dress was similar to sending him a signed and written invitation, bring your own knives. She hadn't minded when he had cut her cheek with such care and determination; Eleanor was no stranger to blurring the lines of pleasure and pain. The cut on her cheek had heeled well and could be completely concealed with make-up now. She did worry about what would happen if The Joker gave himself over with complete abandon and just how grateful she'd be after.

Not very, if his own face was any indication.

…………………………….

The party was held in a penthouse that made her own luxurious apartment look like a fleapit.

The soft muted lighting and classical music combined with the delicate, articulate conversation of those born to wealth led to a pleasing atmosphere.

The trust fund kids could do haughty and sophisticated like nobody else in the world. Nothing like those brash vulgar celebrities who catapulted into wealth through some pitiful talent. They didn't belong here.

Eleanor hadn't been to one of these parties for at least five years and had matured significantly in that time. She had turned thirty and lived in the African planes. This had harden her face and given her a tan that seemed less seasonal and more permanent.

Hardly anyone recognised her and Eleanor enjoyed the mystique. In these circles her beauty wasn't so outstanding. Plastic surgery had allowed many to catch up. She took a flute of champagne as it was offered to her.

The refreshments were a sign of the affluence of the owner. Many hosts provided champagne but the cheap kind. Taking a sip Eleanor knew no expense had been spared.

She found Nancy and endured the obligatory hugs and double cheek kiss. Nancy then dragged her over to meet the man of the hour, Bruce Wayne. Eleanor hadn't resisted much, he was the only reason she was here.

He had three girls draping from him. All of them beauties with sparkling eyes. Eleanor automatically liked these three girls better than the entire room. They were having fun without pretences.

Nancy performed the introductions.

Bruce looked surprised to see Eleanor. "Have we met?" He examined her face closely.

"No." Eleanor replied simply, a little perturbed with his attention

Bruce held out his hand to shake hers. "How is it I haven't met such a ravishing creature as yourself?"

Eleanor smiled, acknowledging the mandatory compliment. "I've been out of the country."

Nancy sighed at her friend's obliqueness. "Eleanor is a psychologist. She has been studying in Africa."

"I've heard of you." For the first time Bruce looked interested. Trust fund kids didn't get jobs. They merely employed people to make them richer.

"As I've heard of you." Eleanor purposefully injected a sharpness.

Bruce didn't look offended; he just shot her a rueful grin which was entirely unapologetic.

"Well I have to attend to more of my guests but please, enjoy the champagne, it's been imported from France and I would be horrified if my ostentatiousness was not appreciated. Nancy, always a pleasure. Eleanor, lovely to meet you and I hope to see more of you.

They didn't talk again but Eleanor was glad she had come. Bruce was hiding something behind this playboy exterior. He didn't enjoy it nearly as much as he pretended to. If the opportunity rose again she would insert herself into his company but she wasn't going to go out of her way. She had enough complicated men in her life as it was.

Eleanor returned home at a reasonable hour even though the party was still in full swing. Her door was unlocked and she knew for sure she had locked it on the way out.

Her heart pounding in her mouth she silently pushed the door open and flicked the lights on expecting the worst. It was somehow more drastically awful when the lights revealed nothing out of place, no change and no Joker.

She trailed cautiously from room to room saving her bedroom for last. All her black dresses were on the floor, sliced into tiny pieces, sprayed with green and purple paint. Eleanor couldn't believe The Joker had stooped to petty vandalism. Possibly the dress had enraged him significantly more than initially expected.

At closer glance she saw a single white card on top of the pile. She gingerly retrieved it. It had an address and a time scrawled on it.

This hadn't been a threat. It had been an invitation.

The Joker really had a thing or two to learn from Miss Manners.

**AN: Yeah Bruce Wayne is now in the story. Breath easy, he's not a love interest! He's just way too much fun not to have more of him. I have to say I've never read the comics at great length or watched the cartoon so all of my ideas and inspiration stems from the movies. So please forgive me if I stray from the canon of the previous interpretations. I mean no disrespect. Please review, constructive criticism always welcome.**

**MD666**


	6. Chapter 6

………………………………

……………………………….

Eleanor stood at the street corner wearing a dress similar to the one she had worn when she met The Joker. Blood red. She thought it appropriately symbolic.

The sun was bright for the first time in so many weeks and it was hard to imagine that on such a delightful day death was just around the corner. As it was, death turned up smiling too.

The white van skidded to a halt in front of her and the door slid open. The Jokers garish grinning face beamed out at her.

"Morning!" he sang out and hoisted her into the van. He swung her in between two of his goons and sat so they were facing each other knee to knee.

Eleanor had forgotten the truly horrifying effect his face could have. It made her blood slow to watch him but she also felt a terrific release that she could sit and study him. To have him in sight was less scary than not knowing where he was.

"Jeez princess, we aren't going to, uh, like a ball or something." His tongue flicked out.

"What do you mean?"

"Could you have dress a little… less…. Con-spic-uouslyyy?"

"I would have worn something black but inexplicably the entirety of my black wardrobe is… indisposed."

The Joker slathered his face in what had to be the most forced, exaggerated expression of innocence. With his hands wide he shrugged. "_Que_?"

"'Que' my ass," Eleanor muttered under her breath.

The Joker cackled. "Such sass, Princess. Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed? Or in the wrong bed?"

Eleanor, furious that she had let the expletive slip, ignored his provocation. Instead she asked a question.

"How old are you?"

The Joker flattened his hand against his chest in false outrage. "You can't ask me that!"

"Why?"

"It's rude," he retorted. His tongue flicked out. "You'll offend my feminine sensibilities." He raked his hand through his greasy green hair and waggled a reprimanding finger at Eleanor.

Eleanor could think of no intelligent response to that obliviously absurd statement. The car squealed to a halt. Eleanor made to move but was held in her place by The Joker.

"How old are you?" He demanded.

"Thirty." It didn't occur to her to lie. Not when he asked so bluntly.

"Hoochie Mamma! And older wo-man!" He wolf whistled. Eleanor raised two elegant eyebrows asking him silently if he was finished with the spectacle. He just broke down into giggles.

"I'm taking this to mean you are, in fact, younger than me?"

"You can take it however you want. I know how I'd like to take it. With a bit of _action_." He smirked bawdily.

Eleanor stood and moved past him. Just as she was about to step out of the van he smacked her hard and painfully on the buttocks.

She resisted the urge to turn around and hit him with all her strength. That action hadn't arisen from a playful, flirtatious desire. He had intentional demeaned her. Eleanor enjoyed her sexuality when there was a healthy dose of respect or addiction directed towards her. Even Jonathan loved her in his own odd way.

The Joker would set her on fire and kick her corpse while she burnt.

The Joker saw the visible tightening of her shoulders and knew she was just itching to beat him senseless. She had a good deal of self respect and he wondered how long it would take to break her of it. Or if he even should? Let her store it all up until one gloriously bloody show down. There was a skip in The Jokers step as he imagined how Eleanor would fight. Like a hell cat. These prim proper girls were always the most disgusting underneath.

He would never find out if she was going to hit him that day as her eyes adjusted to the light and she saw where they were.

"The museum?" she breathed.

"Yes, it was an excellent suggestion of yours." His tone was loosing its cheeriness. It was settling into a much darker octave. He was preparing for something. Somebody was going to die.

"I did not seriously consider the possibility that you'd act on it."

"I… am a team player." He winked and grabbed her into a choke hold. His knife was at her throat.

"This dance again?"

"Wouldn't want anyone thinking you _willingly_ placed yourself in the company of _moi_."

She tilted her head so she could see his expression and wished she hadn't. There was such raw longing in his eyes as he held the blade to her skin. Eleanor's skin was proving to be a great temptation. The grip on the knife was tight and he seemed to be restraining himself… barely.

Eleanor swallowed. "Should I be worried?"

"Don't worry, Princess." He grinned, baring his yellow teeth. "I have decided if I kill you it won't be with a knife."

"How would you do it?" Eleanor wished she hadn't asked the question.

The Jokers grin shifted into a snarl. "With my teeth."

Eleanor couldn't repress a shiver, one that's origins were not entirely fear. "You know how to turn a girl on."

He giggled childishly, elated at her attempt to joke in the face of such a vicious promise. She had backbone, he'd give her that. He'd also take it away given half the chance.

They burst through the doors, accompanied by the sounds of machine gunfire. The Joker was waving his knife hand expressively as if conducting an orchestra.

He manoeuvred her into the elevator and gave one curt order to the henchmen.

"Up. Take the stairs." he snapped in his raspy voice.

The doors slid shut and he moved away from Eleanor to study the floor plan plastered on the wall.

"What would you like to see today, dear?" He had a fake British accent, horrifyingly accentuated by the nasally quality of his voice.

"Oh you know me, easily entertained." Eleanor answered honestly. She was just glad to be going into this debacle without a concussion. She liked having her wits about her with The Joker.

"Indecisive woman!" he was distracted as he said it. He was no longer paying Eleanor any attention. Probably wouldn't until he needed her as a prop again.

He selected a button somewhere near the top floor. Eleanor couldn't see over his shoulder which one exactly.

He then pulled out a small lump of something and began attaching it to the roof.

"I hesitate to ask but what are you doing?" Eleanor broke the silence.

"Hesitate a bit more," he growled at her, trying to focus.

The doors slid open smoothly and he kicked Eleanor in the small of the back. She went sprawling onto the floor out of the elevator. She let out a small yelp of pain.

He jumped out of the elevator. "Ta da," he yelled dramatically, his hands out and his eyes wide. He was greeted with hush. His notoriety and the machine guns his henchmen held ensured rapt attention. Not like the early days when people had laughed and called him a freak. He didn't have to make his pencil disappear any more.

Still he couldn't resist a magic trick or two. The Joker grabbed the arm of a security guard and forced him into the elevator with a hard shove. He wanted to ask him why all security guards were fat but didn't have the time for such important questions.

"I'm going to make this man, uh, disappear ah!" The elevator doors closed before the man could gather himself enough to escape. The numbers started to drop.

"Abracadabra!" The Joker shouted and pointed at the elevator. He looked disappointed when nothing happened.

"I gotta get better equipment," he whined.

There was a loud bang and the sound of a crash. The elevator had been blown to smithereens. "Better late than never." He then proceeded to congratulate himself with a pat on the back.

"Now would someone be so good as to call 91?"

Eleanor had picked herself up off the ground as she watched a frightened hostage frantically dial the police.

The Joker redirected his attention to her and she tried to conceal the glare she shot his way.

"Sorry?" The Joker shrugged.

Eleanor sighed and rubbed the small of her back. That would bruise but on the other hand she was a lot better off than that security guard was. She took in her surroundings. They were surrounded by big glass windows. She felt an instant shot of fear.

"This is hardly a strategic location."

"Whaddya mean?" The Joker looked around trying to see the fault that Eleanor had observed but he clearly hadn't.

"The windows! We're in a shooting gallery."

"Princess, do I detect concern?"

"Yes, for myself," she mumbled that last bit under her breath. He still heard and wheezed out a laugh.

"You worry too much. Relaaaaax! Enjoy the music till the police get here."

There was music playing over the Museums speaker system. Light classical music. The Joker was suddenly right next to her and pulled her into a waltz. It was clumsy and ridiculous; he hummed along to the music before lowering her into an uncomfortable dip.

The Joker then unceremoniously let her fall. She winced but didn't react in any other way. During the first incident he seemed content to discover her threshold to pain. Now he was seeing how much he could embarrass her and torment her with his complete disregard.

Eleanor thought about snapping back with some barbed witticism that would humiliate him in front of everyone here but thought better of it. No need to slap the already angry animal looking in your direction.

Eleanor watched the sirens approaching. The flashing lights getting closer and closer. She wondered if any of these men would get a good look at her and identify her. Thankfully the idea of The Joker allowing a single woman to follow him around was so foreign they could only assume she was there under duress.

The phone rang. The Joker wrinkled his nose. "That would be for me."

"Hi mom!"

"_Joker. What do you want this time?"_ Commissioner Gordon's voice was calm.

"Co-missioner, It's kinda upsetting we only chat in these circumstances. We should meet socially. How about you invite me over for dinner?"

"_You want to play games? That's fine. Just assure me that everyone is safe."_

"I can't do that co-missioner. Everyone is a lot of people. I can't speak for everyone in the entire world!"

The Commissioner sighed. "_Everyone in the museum._"

"They're okay for now. If you want them to stay that way you'll release one criminal from maximum security every hour or there will be _severe _consequences… everyone will not be safe then." He flicked his tongue and smacked his lips waiting for Gordon's reaction.

"_You're crazy_!"

"No I'm not," He barked. Eleanor saw the rage in his eyes and knew Commissioner Gordon had said the wrong thing. She took a subconscious step backwards towards the glass.

The Joker was fighting for control. He cracked his neck as he practically felt Gordon's triumph down the phone.

"_Why would we cooperate with a terrorist like you? You are on display in a glass cabinet. We could shoot you right now._"

The Jokers eyes shot to Eleanor standing near the glass, watching him warily.

"You won't shoot me, co-mmissioner," he purred into the phone.

"_Why is that_?"

"I brought my own shield." He struck, quick as a snake, slamming Eleanor's back into the glass and forcing himself up hard against her body. He waved an enthusiastic hand past Eleanor's head.

Eleanor's mind was reeling. The Joker was flush against her, leaving her no room to move. She tried not to breath or think. The snipers couldn't possibly get a clear shot it him right now.

"Now Co-missioner… would you kill such a _pretty_," he spat that word into her face, "woman…. All I want is a few tiny criminals released until I get bored of this and everyone lives."

"_Let her go, Joker!_"

"Everyone wants to defend you Princess. You do make a fantastic hostage. Can you see me co-missioner?"

"_Parts of you._"

The Joker buried his face in Eleanor's neck. "You know how a good woman smells, Co-missioner. You have a wife. They smell just edible." The Joker sank his teeth into Eleanor's neck and she gasped in pain. He had drawn blood

Gordon heard it. "_Damn it. Let her go!_"

"She's just so perfect, Co-missioner." The Joker let his hand trail up her thigh bringing her dress up with it, exposing her leg.

"I wonder what it would be like to be, uh, inside her, co-missioner. Would it be just as perfect?" The Joker was encouraged by the taste of her blood and her naked fear.

There was no response from the other end of the phone apart from Gordon's ragged breathing as he tried to contain his disgust and rage.

"I could do it now, Co-missioner, and tell you how it goes. Hell, you'll have ring side seats." He smacked his lips.

Eleanor had closed her eyes. She knew he'd do it to prove a point. She considered fighting him off but he'd probably just kill her. He ground into her and stopped coherent thought. For an instance she wanted him to do it but she could feel from his body that he wasn't in the mood and this was all mind games. This sobering thought lent her control.

"I'll give her a kiss for you Co-missioner." The Joker was leaning his lips close to her and Eleanor recoiled from the smell.

"_Damnit, I'll see what I can do."_ Gordon was lying and they both knew it but he couldn't watch The Joker violate her in front of his eyes and he wouldn't shoot her to get him.

The Joker was satisfied though. He giggled in the phone once, eerily, before hanging up.

He pulled Eleanor away from the window but kept an arm clamped around her waste. She was his body armour now and would take any bullet intended for him.

"Thanks for that," Eleanor snapped sarcastically, her heart starting to slow to a normal rate.

"Don't mention-uh it, Princess." And he crushed his lips to hers, driving home his absolute control of the situation. Eleanor shoved him back.

He laughed as she retreated in disgust.

Eleanor slapped him, hard enough to make his head jerk back.

The Joker just smirked, enjoying everything about this moment. "Tease," he rasped. Then went right back to ignoring her and barking instructions.

Eleanor was shaking against his body. She had been bolder and more confident around him this time and been chastised for it. She wasn't surrendering though. Eleanor thought it was about time The Joker got a taste of his own medicine. She just needed something appropriately diabolical.

**AN: Yes a kiss but not an affectionate one. God heavens no! But now Eleanor is annoyed and hell hath no fury like woman scorned!**

**Please review.**

**MD666**


	7. Chapter 7

………………………………

………………………………..

Commissioner Gordon stared at the windows and cursed the gall of The Joker. The man was ingenious Gordon admitted grudgingly. He returned his attention to the phone call he was currently immersed in with the mayor.

"Absolutely not."

Gordon winced. This was the exact reaction he had expected.

"There must be some other way."

Gordon shook his head slowly, forgetting for the moment that the mayor couldn't see him. "These are our options."

"Don't you have snipers for this sort of thing?" the Mayor demanded.

"We don't have a clear shot."

"He's in a fish bowl!"

"He's using a girl as a human shield!" Gordon explained, feeling bile rise in his throat as he remembered The Joker's little dramatic exhibition not so long ago.

"We are not releasing one of the most dangerous criminals back into society." The Mayor was beginning to sound less certain as he watched his choices vanish before his eyes.

Gordon had nothing to say. His eyes were still fixed on the museum.

"What will he do, Gordon?" The Mayors voice was small and far away.

Gordon looked at his watch. Two hours had passed. "I don't know but we're about to find out."

As if cued by Gordon's words the glass a few levels above The Joker was shot out. A man was lowered out with some sort of rope.

He was bound but not gagged and soaked in something. He also had a painting strapped to his body.

"What is that?" Gordon mumbled to himself. His eyes widened. "Gasoline," he breathed.

The man was lowered, screaming, so he dangled just outside the level The Joker stood on. The Joker had pushed the girl up against the window but she was facing out now. Her expression was almost entirely blank, except she was biting her lip.

The Joker stuck his head out from behind her briefly, grinning like a brute. He waggled his fingers in a gross imitation of a wave. Waving goodbye. He clicked his fingers and one of the henchmen dropped a match from the gaping hole in the museum side.

The Mayor was still on the phone. "Gordon, what's happening?"

Gordon didn't answer. He just watched speechless as the tiny speck of flame fell, praying to a god he didn't know he believed in that it would be extinguished before it fell.

Gordon should have prayed more before now. His stomach lurched as the man caught fire. The man writhed and crackled.

The painting concealed most of the burning body until it too caught fire. But the mans face wasn't obscured at all and Gordon saw every horrible nuance of pain, emotion and fear. He saw the charring, the bubbling and the burning as his face melted before Gordon's eyes.

Gordon found himself screaming hoarsely for fire engines but felt hopeless. The fire trucks couldn't quench the hellfire The Joker had begun with all the water in Gotham.

…………………………

Eleanor had seen some disgusting things in her life. It was bound to happen in her line of work.

She had seen a woman cut off her own hand, because it was 'Satan's hand.' She had seen a man try to sexually force himself onto a pig, smeared in his own excrement, professing love the entire time.

She had seen a man torn apart by lions on the African savannah.

And yet, somehow, it all paled compared to what she was forced to watch. The Joker had her all but pressed against the glass in his eagerness to watch his destruction first hand. Eleanor couldn't even close her eyes.

It took a lot to shake Eleanor up but watching the man burn alive had come uncomfortably close to unnerving her. Not for any moral reason. Just the visual turned her stomach and threatened to haunt her. She kept her face neutral but couldn't stop herself biting her lip.

Eleanor knew logically that she couldn't smell the cooking flesh but she imagined she did.

The Joker was shaking with glee. "Look at it burn," he gasped. He would have clapped his hands if he wasn't clutching Eleanor. "Look at the pretty pretty lights. It's like Christmas."

His tongue darted out.

The Joker stayed there watching until all that was left was smoking remains. It didn't resemble a human anymore and the painting was utterly gone. There was soft sobbing from the hostages behind him but it bounced of him like water.

The Joker staggered back into the museum, away from the prying eyes of the police.

"Well that was fun," he breathed into Eleanor's neck. He turned to one of his henchman. "Cut it down."

'It' had of course been a 'he.'

The Joker turned Eleanor around to face him and searched her face for any signs of hysteria. If she had shown any she would have strung her up next with the next painting.

Eleanor suspected she knew what he was contemplating. As far as anyone could know what he was thinking. For all she knew he could be thinking about what to eat for dinner. This brought a genuine smile to her face.

The Joker nodded approvingly. A giggle bubbled out, still basking in the after-glow of the fireworks. Still, back to business at hand.

"Sooo Princess. Why the museum?"

"I have a deep appreciation for art." Eleanor lied, conspicuously too.

He yanked her hair hard. "As much as I love a little subterfuge here and there, I wanna know the _real_… reason."

"I want one of those paintings."

He had her head tilted at an awkward angle, her throat exposed, but this didn't faze her. It was remarkable how you could get used to the most extraordinary circumstances after a certain amount of time. She had grown accustomed to The Joker's stench and make-up so she barely registered it. This gave her the room to think.

"What for, Princess? You're… uh… You're rich. You're very rich." He smacked his lips, his eyes fixed on her throat.

Eleanor saw that and clicked her fingers. "I'm up here." She treated him like any little boy that had been caught staring at her breasts. It also, hopefully, distracted him from the question he had asked.

The Joker giggled. "They should put that on a T-shirt."

"I think they have," Eleanor breathed, thinking that she'd sooner eat shards of glass than wear something so vulgar. He, however, had obliged and given her the weight of eye contact.

"I think-a, Princess, that it's a present for someone."

"It is."

"A boy?"

Eleanor didn't answer and The Joker didn't giggle. "Are you trying to manipulate me for this boy, Princess?"

His voice was dangerously low. The Joker was a possessive little child sometimes and he had been tickled by the idea Eleanor had come to him. He fancied that made her his possession to do with what he will. The Joker didn't like the idea she had been sent to him.

"I told you why…"

"Princess, if you lie to me again… I'll tear your throat out." His lips were hovering over her throat.

"Yes… but only because it benefited me." Her pulse was thundering and as The Joker brushed his mouth against her neck he felt it fluttering there like a caged bird.

"Do you like this boy, Princess?"

"Yes."

"Is he a beautiful boy? A whole boy?"

"Yes."

The Jokers tongue flicked out, tasting her skin and her fear. This was how he had pictured this moment. Her, trapped against him, no where to run and suicidal enough to be honest with him.

"Doesn't have these scars? You want to know how I got them, Eleanor?"

She started at the use of her name. "Yes," she answered, wishing she could think of another reply.

The Joker pulled back so he could maintain eye contact. "I was a… restless… youth. I didn't have time for school in my poor neighbourhood. So I got in with some petty thieves. Insignificant thieves." He smacked his lips and looked around as if recalling what came next.

"Now, we pissed off the big bad wolf of the neighbourhood. The prince of crime, if you will and he came after us. He was going to let us off with a warning because we were just young punks. But I-ah…. I made the _mistake_ of laughing at him. So he grabs a razor blade and holds it in my mouth. '_Think you're funny?'_ he growls and I can't think of anything to say. I ain't laughing now.

"'_Why so serious? I thought you like to smile?_ And so he cuts me up. Makes me like this but its okay… because I can take a joke."

The Joker sniggered outrageously.

"Is any of that true?"

"… Someone would have to read it back to me."

He thrust her away. He strode over to the wall and scrutinised the paintings. The Joker finally settled on one and yanked it off the wall and threw it to Eleanor.

"This is for your pretty boy… with _my_ regards." He stretched his shoulders. Telling stories about his scars made The Joker tense.

"Why?" Eleanor questioned.

"I like to reward good behaviour and this," he gestured widely to the museum, "_…. This_ was a good idea. Fido barks for master, master gives Fido a treat." The Joker walked over and ruffled her hair condescendingly. "Good Fido, good dog. Ruff!"

Eleanor put the painting down carefully and grabbed his tie, pulling him down to eye level.

She spoke precisely and with control. "If you ever insinuate I'm a dog again I'll stab you in the eye with my heels."

The Joker raised an eyebrow, both sceptical and amused. "Can you even kick that high?"

Eleanor shrugged. "You'd be lying down."

"Why would I be doing that?"

Eleanor yanked him down harder so she could whisper in his ear.  
"Because I would have cut your legs off."

A laugh erupted from The Jokers throat. "You naughty _naughty_ girl."

**AN: I got nothing. Please review.**

**MD**


	8. Chapter 8

………………………………………………………………………

……………………………………………………………………….

Eleanor cast a glance out the window. She had been sitting down against the wall, with the painting lying at her feet. The Joker had ignored her after Eleanor had gifted the art work to her. He was dancing around, poking and tormenting the hostages who were all terrified they would be the next to be strung up.

The police had long been joined by the media and Eleanor knew it was only a matter of time before Batman showed up. She hoped The Joker had another daring plan to escape from him but right now she was tired, worn out by the stress of the situation and longing for her bed.

In fact, she could probably have fallen asleep right there on the floor without considering what The Joker might do, if the woman closest to her had stopped taking these horrible deep shaking breaths.

"Oh shut up," Eleanor mumbled under her breath.

"You say something, Princess?" The Joker spun away from his discussion with his henchmen. She had said it quiet but as she was the only one making noise in the big echoing room apart from The Joker the sound carried.

She nodded towards the window. "It's dark outside."

"That's an excellent observation, Princess." The Jokers voice was deadpan.

"Is that good or bad for us?"

The Joker shrugged. "It could go either way." He giggled, clearly amused with the potential chaos this situation could invoke. He looked at Eleanor. "You might want to start praying."

"Please tell me you have a plan," Eleanor said.

"I have a plan."

"Really?" Eleanor glanced up with a little bit of excitement.

"_Nooooooo_." The Joker slid down the wall to sit next to Eleanor.

She felt a smile quirk her lips. It was unbidden and she forced it down quickly. "Then why did you say so?"

"You asked me to. I can't resist a please." he replied, all wide eyed innocence.

The Joker slid his watch out of his pocket then gestured pointedly at his henchmen and the man left. The others started moving in a flurry of activity. That was the thing about The Jokers henchmen. Many were as unstable as The Joker but lacked the direction. The zealousness.

Unless they had orders they stood there blankly, but menacingly, holding their guns close and occasionally having mumbled conversations with themselves. But they followed his orders blindly and with extreme devotion.

When commanded they moved and operated with surprising efficiency. Similar to bees.

The lights cut out and there were soft gasps from the hostages who had long ago lost the will to scream. The Joker would probably relish the challenge to make them shriek even now. It was black but the lights from the police and media trucks were casting enough of a glow that she could make out people's outlines.

In the dark a hand brushed her thigh once before grasping it and sliding higher.

"I have a bear trap up there." Eleanor said calmly. The feel of his hand had made things low in her body tighten and throb. But Jonathan had been doing that to her for years, she'd learnt to control her reaction. That The Joker thought to turn her own sensuality against her, use it as a weapon, was disappointing. She'd thought he's have a more original approach.

The Joker sniggered and pouted. "_Puhleaseeeee_?"

"No!" Eleanor sighed. The Joker was a little boy who wanted something just because he couldn't have it.

There was a pause and The Joker's voice dropped. "I could make you scream."

Never had Jonathan promised something so visceral and intense.

Her mouth was dry but she managed to say. "I'm sure you could… but in all the wrong ways."

"What's the wrong way?" he was provoking her. Eleanor was too tired of watching her step.

"Oh god, please don't cut off that important limb, I have every intention of using it!"

"Opposed to good screams….?"

"Yes which consists of: Oh big boy, throw me down on the floor and mount me like a lion."

The Joker tightened his hand slightly then removed it. His tongue darted out and he smirked. Eleanor caught a flash of something from the dark as henchmen brought out mirrors. Lot's of them. They were gluing them to the wall with a hot glue gun.

"Mirrors?"

"Yehah… because I'm soooo pretty!" He sniggered to himself. There was tenseness to his jaw. The Joker, as much as he claimed autonomy from conventional thought, believed that he was repulsive… just like everyone else thought.

Eleanor felt her mouth drop open at the sheer quantity of the mirrors and was glad no one could see her.

"But I didn't see you bring these in."

"Well duh, princess, they have been here for… uh… about a week. Yehah a week." There was the familiar sound of lip smacking as Eleanor watched them cover all the walls and randomly place free standing mirrors around the room. It was a labyrinth of reflections.

"A week? But my lecture… my lecture was two days ago."

"Right," he purred.

"You planned this a long time ago? Why did you let me think I had manipulated you into this?"

The Joker giggled. "Because the idea of _you_ manipulating _me_ turned me on."

"Honestly?"

"Princess, haven't you figured out that I'm the wrong guy to go to for _hon-es-ty!_" He shook his head, disbelieving. "Women."

He pulled himself fluidly to his feet and yanked her up less gracefully. "Now Princess, things are going to get a little dramatic in here. Messy if I have anything to say about it, so if you could just park it, uh, over by them there hostages and stay out of my way that would be…uh, that would be _super_."

"What about my painting," She pointed a finger at where it lay on the ground.

"I'll post it to you."

"Promise?"

He threw his hands in the air. "Sheesh princess, shut up or I'll burn you as the welcome wagon." He proceeded to mutter under his breath. She caught words like 'demanding,' and 'trying to conduct a heist here,' and that made her grin widely.

Good to know she could annoy him too if she wanted to. It some what made up for the impotent rage she felt when she had promised revenge earlier and couldn't for the life of her think up something adequate.

Eleanor lowered herself with dignity before The Joker could take it into his head to force her down.

She was glad she had because the glass shattered out of the window. But there was the absence of gun blasts that would have followed a sniper attack. There was only one answer for that. Batman.

In the silence The Jokers cackling laugh echoed dissonantly in the room. His garish smile filled about seven of the mirrors and it was impossible to guess where he was standing in the room. He flashed one bigger toothy grin before sliding a clown mask down over his face. He could be any one of the henchmen in the room now.

She saw the sliding shadow in the mirrors. So Gordon had definitely sent in Batman. Eleanor speculated whether anyone else was capable of dealing with The Joker. Whether The Joker would accept anyone else?

"I don't want to play games," Batman growled.

"Oh ho ha hi hi. This isn't a _game_. No _noooooo_ this is a masque ball. Why else would we all be wearing such pretty disguises?" His voice filtered through

Eleanor kept her head down but allowed her eyes to try and track the process of the people in the room. Occasionally a tasteless clown mask would loom into the mirror but she had no way of knowing whether it was The Joker.

Eleanor hadn't actually witnessed him preparing a huge escape plan. But with the startling realisation this scheme had been in development for weeks, longer than Jonathan had even told her to nudge The Joker towards the museum, Eleanor knew he could have set any number of traps, explosives or back alleys.

Batman seized one masked figure and furiously ripped off the mask. He met the wide rolling eyes of some generic lunatic. He punched him hard in the face. Not with enough force to severely damage but he hoped he was stunned. One less fool to deal with was alright by him.

One of the henchmen slammed against a mirror near the hostages and the woman closest to Eleanor clutched her hand. Eleanor looked at the gripping claw scornfully and somewhat surprised. The hostages clearly hadn't been able to hear what The Joker and Eleanor had said to each other or if they had they hadn't comprehended the complexity of their relationship. They must genuinely believe she was here under duress.

Eleanor covered the woman's hands with her own and squeezed, indulging the charade, just as a round of gunfire echoed through the room. One of the mirrors exploded bodily when a bullet hit it and a shard cut through the throat of a clown lurking behind it.

He swayed on his feet, his neck a gaping ruin or an obscene parody of a smile. Eleanor could only guess by the spray of blood that covered her and a few of the hostages that it was the end of his short and trivial life. She knew instinctually that it wasn't The Joker.

Batman cursed. "Idiots." The bullets had come from the police and could have just as easily hurt himself or a hostage.

That obvious fact didn't stop them sending more shots into the museum blindly hoping they hit something. Eleanor slumped forward, hands over her head and her ears. She could only hear muffled shouting now and the snaps as a bullet whizzed by. Her own breathing was ten times louder like this and she could not only feel, but listen to, the thud of her heart.

The hot blood slid down Eleanor's face and a small portion flew into her mouth. She tried to ignore it but it was a potent sensation lying thick on her tongue. The combination of the smell and taste of the blood, and the adrenalin was waking something in her that never seemed far from the surface these days.

Of all the emotions and reactions she could be experiencing right now in this hectic chaos she was dryly amused to note that above the fear, the self preservation, the anxiousness was the fact that she was horny as hell.

The Joker sure knew how to take a girl out on the town. Or more specifically, her kind of girl.

Eleanor wondered what The Joker thought of blood as an aphrodisiac. He was a sexual creature no doubt about that but it was a shame that the only time he thought to interact with a woman was driven by intimidation. She supposed he got himself off over a barrel of gasoline or stroking his knives.

This frustrated Eleanor because above anything in that moment she wanted him to slowly lick the blood off her before _slowly_ turning his mouth to other sensitive parts of her body. But this wasn't going to happen because for Eleanor to sleep with him he would have to want her more than anything else. More than chaos and disorder.

That was as likely as Jonathan becoming a momk.

Eleanor realised her breaths were too shallow, too frequent almost as if she was… panting. Good god! Was this what the man had reduced her to? A bitch in heat? Slave to her most primal ingrained urges? Eleanor forced herself to look up, fuelled by her exasperation at herself. He would not make a puppet of her.

There were fewer mirrors now and certainly less henchmen. It was still dark and the movement seemed far away. Her eyes adjusted marginally. They were headed towards the stairs. Good. Take that brutish violence with them. The Joker seemed to lack distinction when it came to choosing between outright slugging and the more finessed interaction. As long as the end result was someone got cut open.

There were footsteps on the stairs, no elevator to ease the way, softly scuffing. The doors were kicked in and twenty little red dots slid over the hostages bodies. That SWAT team of Gordon's was always late to the party. They brought torches with them to flood the room with light.

Behind enemy lines now and all for Jonathans fucking painting.

……………………………………………………….

The woman across the table was gorgeous. She was bloodied, pallid and under florescent light… and still spectacular.

Gordon cleared his throat, forcing himself to remain professional. He had seen the security footage and witnessed The Joker threaten to rape her against a window. What made her special? Why had he singled her out?

Eleanor Laurence met his eyes calmly, probably too serenely for someone who had been in such a life threatening situation. It could merely be post traumatic stress or a defence mechanism but Gordon doubted it. Eleanor Laurence was not all she seemed.

"Ms Laurence, I apologise for keeping you here. I understand it must be inconvenient."

"Not at all, Commissioner. I understand the severity of the situation."

Gordon shifted in his chair. "Did he, The Joker… did he…" Gordon was having a lot of trouble asking the question.

"Did he sexually violate me?" Eleanor's tone remained neutral. "No."

Gordon let out a breath and Eleanor thought it must be exhausting caring about the issues of every person you met.

"Do you have any reason why The Joker would involve you in such a display?"

Eleanor thought about this question. Obviously the entire truth could hardly be imparted but if she said she had no idea then that simply sounded suspicious.

"He implied he knew I was a psychologist."

Gordon nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I read that was your profession. Do you have any association with Julian Crane."

"Jonathan," she corrected automatically and froze.

Gordon smiled slowly and their eyes met. He saw something cold stir in their depths but quickly it was replaced by a mischievous glint, her face a picture of charm.

"Touché, Commissioner."

"You wouldn't have admitted to the association?"

Eleanor leaned back in her chair and shrugged. "Jonathan and I were friends but his name is not as… kosher as it once was. Is this relevant?"

"Just trying to determine what kind of woman The Joker would choose to involve in his games."

Eleanor propped her chin up on the table. "The Joker dislikes order, descriptions and categories. Psychologists try and pigeonhole everything. Once you give something a name it's less frightening.

"If we diagnose The Joker he wouldn't be a symbol of crazed manic would he? He would simply be a delusional pathetic man shouting at the ghosts with his fire sticks. You can't send a message if you are weak. I suppose he wanted to make a mockery of the chance I might ever know what's wrong with him."

"What would you say is wrong with The Joker?" Gordon prompted.

"How long do you have?"

"Seriously, Ms Laurence."

"You're asking my professional opinion?"

Gordon nodded.

Eleanor thought about it and decided to be almost honest again.

"He's smart. Very very intelligent and he is well trained. He is charismatic and could quite easily draw a decent following if he invested in subtle methods rather than shock tactics. He is also not nearly insane as he'd like you to think."

Gordon opened his mouth to protest. No sane man dangled a person tied to a painting out window and set them on fire.

Eleanor didn't allow him to proceed. "He is deeply disturbed, unhinged, and a sadists and a masochist. But he is calculating and cunning. He is crazy but The Joker is no lunatic."

"Would this get him out of an insanity plea bargain?" Gordon sounded eager now.

Eleanor narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Possibly, if well argued and supported. Why?"

"Because we caught him. Batman got him at the museum."

………………………………………………………………………………….


	9. Chapter 9

………………………………………………………………………………

………………………………………………………………………………

Eleanor didn't allow herself to register the fact her hands were shaking. That would mean processing what had happened. She couldn't do that until she had washed the blood from her face.

It took three attempts to slip the key into the lock. In fact she had only just fitted it in when the door swung open. Eleanor looked up blankly into Jonathans face.

"I thought it must have been you," Jonathan said running his gaze over her body, taking in the blood thickly matted in her hair.

"You thought it must have been me what?"

"At the museum," He hooked an arm around her waist. "I'd recognise your derrière anywhere even pressed against glass on prime time."

Eleanor feebly pushed him away, hands squarely on her chest. "No flirting, Jonathan."

"What's wrong with you?" Jonathan's voice was serious. Eleanor tried to slide past him but Jonathan grabbed her chin and not gently. He surprised himself at the jolt of panic he felt at her vacant expression.

Eleanor wrapped her fingers around his wrist softly. "Jonathan, I'm covered in someone else's blood, I've had no sleep and The Joker has been taken in to custody."

Jonathan searched her face for a moment longer than pulled her into an embrace. Jonathan wasn't a tall man but she fit neatly into his body, head tucked under his chin. She clutched his jacket so tightly her knuckles were white.

Jonathan was a dangerous influence on her life but at the moment he was the only constant. He was the first to pull away, softly untangling himself. He took her hand and led her into the bathroom.

Eleanor was as cooperative as a child. Jonathan started the water in the bath and then began easing the zip down on her dress, slowly exposing the soft skin of her back. He couldn't resist trailing he fingers of his free hand down that naked flesh.

His fingers grazing lightly elicited a sharp inhale of breath from Eleanor.

Jonathan smirked but decided to behave himself. He tested the temperature of the water while Eleanor removed what remained of her clothing. Modesty didn't mater where Jonathan was concerned.

"It's good." Jonathan indicated the water and Eleanor sank gratefully into the warmth, feeling it ease her tense muscles. Jonathan was kicking of his shoes and socks. There was just enough room at the end of the bath for someone to sit and Jonathan manoeuvred himself there after rolling up his pant legs. His feet were in the water, legs encasing Eleanor.

Eleanor smiled for the first time in a few hours. Jonathan, always so composed in his nice suits, with his feet in water, perched awkwardly on the edge of a bath. Jonathan was too busy reaching for the shampoo to notice.

Carefully he worked the shampoo into a thick lather in her hair. He took time to massage her scalp, relaxing her, watching the strain leave her shoulders.

"So he did what you hinted," said Jonathan.

Eleanor laughed humourlessly. "In kind."

"It fitted his motive. Lately all his attacks have been random."

Eleanor shook her head. "He's taunting Batman. Trying to get him to snap. Also…"

"Also what?"

"It's just a theory but I get the feeling he's waiting for something. Something to happen maybe."

"Why do you think that?"

Eleanor shrugged. "Doesn't matter now. He's caught."

Jonathan narrowed her eyes at the unexpected emotion in her tone. Was she fond of the madman now? Jonathan hadn't anticipated this. He felt a little surge of jealousy. He couldn't bring himself to comfort her.

Her hair was clean and smelt good. All traces of blood had disappeared from face tinging the water red. Eleanor sat in the water until it started to get cold, Jonathan lightly stroking her shoulders.

"Come on, El." He used his infrequent endearment for her. He pulled her out of the water and towelled her dry. Eleanor was compliant in his firm but tender hands. With her wet hair combed off her face she looked much younger than thirty and more vulnerable but Jonathan knew that was deceptive.

He hoped it was deceptive. He didn't want to believe that The Joker's capture had her so fragile. She hadn't spent enough time with him and her mind would have to be much more pliable than what it was for The Joker to have converted her so entirely to his cause.

She was just tired and a little shocked after seeing a live man burned before her eyes, he told himself.

Once she was dried he led her towards the bed. Relief flashed through her eyes at the sight of her plush comfortable mattress. It was obvious that she desired nothing more than to lie down and sleep but she spared the time to look speculatively at Jonathan.

Tonight was not a typical night in their relationship. Jonathan playing the nurturing type was not a role he assumed much and never for anyone else. It was so deeply out of character for him to be sensitive that Eleanor appreciated the effort. She really couldn't have dealt with the virtual minefield their usual interaction was. She scrutinised his overtly handsome face from his fine cheekbones to his big blue angel eyes. Her expression was reflected on his face as they watched each other and tried to ascertain what the next move was.

They were back to their old games and that made Eleanor sad. It would be nice if this could last the night. She was feeling an odd sense of despair growing in her stomach. If she paid too much attention to it she knew it would spread to her heart. Eleanor point blank refused to contemplate the possible reasons for this moroseness. She wanted a distraction. She wanted Jonathan. If the world was falling to pieces he could still make her smile.

Jonathan was about to say goodbye and leave her with her own thoughts when she spoke.

"Stay the night with me."

Jonathan looked as startled as he felt. What was she asking of him?

"Just…" She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she had to stay. "Just hold me, please. I don't want to be alone."

She held his eyes unwaveringly. With that statement she had declared weakness and dependency but instead of feeling triumphant Jonathan merely felt protective. Of her. She must have buried her way deeper into his heart recently with her few encounters with death. He wasn't certain it was a good thing or a bad thing but he would asses it another time. Not tonight.

He slowly took off his clothes until he was as naked as her. Jonathan lay on his back with Eleanor's head pressed against his chest. Both his arms were wrapped around her and her hands pressed flat against his ribs, their legs entangled. They had as much of their bodies touching as possible.

Her eyes were closed but, despite the soft breath against his skin, he knew she was awake.

Eleanor was awake and just savouring the sensation of Jonathan, warm, alive and whole, against her. His heart beat steadily as he held her tightly to him. She felt secure and safe, not caring when he fell asleep.

After he got a dose of his own medicine Jonathan had succumbed to the fear effects but since he understood what was happening to him, he managed to claw his way back to sanity. Slowly but surely he rebuilt his mental health until all that plagued him were the nightmares.

They weren't as bad tonight. Muted by a warmth and a glow that seemed much more important. He didn't jerk and moan in his sleep as he would have normally.

There was the occasional twitch. Eleanor observed them, understanding the reason behind it but it didn't bother her. In fact it helped her. Earlier today the world had begun to seem very empty and she wanted to be reminded that there were other people still there.

………………………….

For days Eleanor thought she was living in a dream and she despised herself for the flaw it implied. Who cared if The Joker was in jail, facing jail and, perhaps, the death penalty?

He had wandered into her life, injected some bedlam and heat, and now he was out of it again. As it should be. Eleanor had had a lot of free time to think about him and she had likened The Joker to a drug. Unpleasant and overwhelming at first but, as time progressed, became exhilarating. Addictive. Fatal. She was well shot of him.

So why did the world seem bland? There were other lunatics, ones who would worship her so she didn't need him. In the next three days she threw herself into activities. Attending University, inquiring after jobs, meeting people for lunch. Conducting herself with absolute normalcy.

She hadn't sought out Jonathan after the one night of indulgence. He was a reminder of what had transpired all too recently.

If Eleanor was honest with herself she could confess that she missed Him. His influence and the threat. She had begun this absurd endeavour because she had too much free time and because of Jonathans request. Now she wanted to be there with him, interested and living on the edge.

She had come home from lunch early, feigning another appointment but really she desired nothing more than to roll in self pity for an hour or two. Maybe with a side order of self mocking and loathing, definitely to be accompanied by a full glass of red wine.

Eleanor had let herself into her apartment surprised to find a brown package on the floor. Her doorman was still the crazy henchman and he didn't interact with people unless they asked a direct question, sometimes not even then, so there was no chance he would have forewarned her.

She slowly unwrapped the oddly sized package. Eleanor raised a trembling hand to her mouth when she realised what it was. _The_ painting posted… as promised. This could only mean one thing unless Gordon had relaxed his mail regulations significantly.

With barely concealed haste she turned the TV on flicking through too many channels before she found one espousing the news. They were talking about some war in some country. Eleanor sighed, expressing her inappropriate boredom. She knew she should be concerned but found it hard to invest any real interest in human wars.

"_And now to other breaking news, the criminal known only as 'The Joker' has escaped."_

Eleanor grinned automatically and then quelled it. She ignored the thrum of excitement in her stomach and focused every inch of her will into being professional and calculating. It was one thing to get emotional about him when he couldn't know and couldn't hurt her. Now he was free she would have to return to detached insouciance and a considered, measured response.

Certainly she would let him come to her this time round. Eleanor was woman enough to know men liked to be the chasers, especially The Joker. He enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, obviously for other reasons than most men.

Another smile graced her face, one far less sweet than before. Game on, she thought and poured herself a celebratory glass of wine.

…………………………………………..

Eleanor had woken up, unsure why, unable to explain the feeling of unease. It was rainy and cold outside, typical of Gotham, and she was warm and safe in her bed.

After her eyes adjusted to the dark and her ears were accustomed to the silence she realised she could hear someone breathing. Someone that certainly wasn't her.

She looked around almost frantically to ascertain where it was coming from.

Eleanor couldn't see anyone lurking in the shadows and went to stand up. As she made to swing her legs out of bed she found the source of the noise. The Joker was curled in the foetal position on the floor. He was half under the bed and Eleanor noticed with a shock that he was asleep.

Eleanor went very still, not wanting to wake him, wanting time to think. Why was he here of all places? Did he feel like her home was a safe haven?

Eleanor thought this was very stupid of him because she had a very good idea. As carefully as she could Eleanor rolled to the other side of the bed and pulled out a bedside drawer. This had a whole range of interesting items including a needle filled with strong sedative. Taking into account the amount of unstable people she slept with this had seemed a wise precaution.

It would also come in handy tonight.

The back of The Jokers neck was exposed. She expertly and deftly slid the needle into his skin. His eyes sprung open but it was too late.

"Princess?" The word was muddled and confused. He sounded lost enough to pinch the sympathy of most normal peoples hearts. Eleanor just blinked at him impassively.

He slumped back into a much deeper slumber and Eleanor got out of bed. She only had maybe an hour to prepare.

……………………………………………………………….

The Joker was dreaming again. He was standing in a world full of misty nothingness that stretched forever. He was strangely aware that that _bitch_ had put him here.

He had been exhausted. Two days with no sleep and he was going to collapse. He was close to her apartment and for no logical reason his feet had led him there. The Joker had let himself in. He looked at the large bed. Plenty of room for him but he had lain down on the hard wood floor.

He squinted into the murk. There was a shape emerging from the dark. If it was Eleanor he was going to teach her a lesson. Even if it she was only a construct of his mind it would give him immense satisfaction to beat her senseless.

It wasn't Eleanor. It was a man dressed all in black.

The Joker crowed with delight. "Batman!" he sung out. "Batty batty Batman."

The figure just shook his head. He got closer and The Joker narrowed his eyes. Now this just didn't make any sense.

"Brian?" He couldn't keep the incredulousness out of his voice.

"Yeah, I know man!" Brian shrugged and sat down in a seat that had previously not been there. The second last time The Joker had seen Brian he had been weeping, wailing and begging. The last time he had seen Brian, he had been dead.

"Brian, long time no see. How's it been?" The Joker swapped pleasantries, seating himself in another chair that miraculously just happened to be there.

Brian shrugged again. "Not bad, man." This Brian was calm and confident, unperturbed by the presence of his murderer.

"Why you here, Bri Bri?"

Brian looked at The Joker like he was an idiot. "You should know, man!"

The Joker merely looked confused, not liking this in the slightest.

Brian sighed heavily. "This is your mind. I'm just a construct of it. If I'm here then it's your fault."

"So everything you're saying and doing?"

"You're imagining it. Oh and by the way, I'm almost positive I didn't use the word 'man' in such ridiculous quantities. I _was_ a lawyer by day."

"_Realllly?_"

Brian shrugged again. Already that was too annoying for words. "How should I know. You invented it. Did you want to be a lawyer when _you_ were a kid?"

The Joker stared at Brian, disconcerted by his gall and utter lack of reaction to him. "I uh, I don't think so. I killed a lawyer once. Think that's got anything to do with it?"

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Possibly. What do you think?"

The Joker didn't like the round about way things were going. Brian answering every question with another question. He only enjoyed a head spin if he was the instigator.

"But you are the instigator," Brian noted casually.

The Joker snarled. "Get out of my head." No one was allowed to read his thoughts. Not even fantasy people.

Brian actually snorted.

"What?" The Joker snapped. He was increasingly losing his light hearted whimsical tone. His lack of control bothered him almost as much as the fact the dark rasping voice he used in his fury had once elicited tears from Brian and now induced nothing but condescension.

"I know you are crazy and everything but you know how nuts its sounds to order a dream out of your head. I am your head."

"You're starting to bug me, Brian."

Brian held up his hands defensively. "This is not my fault. I'm on a script and guess who the writer is." Brian dropped his voice to a stage whisper and pointed at The Joker. "It's you."

The Joker was starting to wonder whether he could kill Brian again. If he had known the first time round that he was going to end up being such a pain in the ass, he would have made it more painful initially.

"So are you a regular sufferer of hallucinations?"

The Joker shot Brian a scathing look. "Not usually. This is the bitch's fault."

"Bitch? There's a girl involved. Ohhhhh."

"She's not a girl. She's a shrew…. A dead shrew," The Joker amended.

"Joker and the bitch sitting in a tree. K.I.S.S.I.N.G!" Brian sang joyfully then looked ashamed. "That's unfair to make a grown man sing that."

"Believe you me, Bri Bri, if I had any control over this little, uh, pickle you wouldn't be here at all let along _singing_."

"How does that make you feel?"

The Jokers tongue darted out of his mouth. "You're starting to sound like her."

"Only because you want me to."

The casual statement snapped something inside The Joker. He grabbed Brian, tackling him to the ground and bashed his head hard against the ground.

"So, uh, why is this happening, Brian? Why you?" The Joker slammed Brian's head against the floor hard again for emphasis. He was infuriated when Brian giggled. It sounded like him when he sniggered.

"I have no idea. Maybe to resolve some deep seated issue."

"You think this will cure me? That'll I start hugging kittens, get a job and donate money to starving children?"

"Or it could simply be a drug induced hallucination, fuelled by exhaustion and the instability of your mind."

This suggestion was even more frustrating. He had put up with Brian's irritating behaviour for no good reason? Worse. He had created it. He must really be a glutton for punishment.

The Joker fished his knife out of his pocket and waved it in front of Brian.

"Point made, Bri Bri. Hey here's a _nifty_ idea. Wanna hear how I got these scars?"

"No," Brian answered simply.

"Why not?"

Brian met his gaze purposefully. "Because I already know."

……………………………………………………………………………


End file.
